


Until the stars all fall down

by thp_cara (TheHolosexualPan)



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Almost Drowning, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Fainting, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gay Panic, Graphic Description, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, I shall shove lore in this if its the last thing i do, Introspection, Loss of Identity, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Moon symbolism, Multi, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Past Abuse, Pining, Polyamory, Possible Mind Control, Spirits, Time Skips, Zouchies, dont look at the chronological events of the eps, good gal cleo, oh boy, respawn mechanics but it's more complicated than that, self blame, tangpulse are saps and in love and i love them, unhealthy mindsets, xisuma overthinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24335500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolosexualPan/pseuds/thp_cara
Summary: Zedaph doesn't know much about his own past and his only connection to it is this little moonstone crystal that he always carries around with him. However, when it starts cracking, everything goes downhill.
Relationships: Team ZIT - Relationship, haha what if it was an ot3 fic, impulseSV/Tango Tek (Video Blogging RPF), jk jk - Relationship, unless...? - Relationship, zedaph/impulse/tango
Comments: 296
Kudos: 200





	1. First Break

**Author's Note:**

> OR
> 
> Author hears the quote "At least they have each other, and I... I have all these moons" and goes feral.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A portal that uses never before seen magic brings change with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I finally gave in and wrote the Zed angst no one asked for :>

“Come on X, it’s been tried and tested and checked so many times, it’s _fine_ ”, Doc groans, leaning into the blue portal frame behind him, arms crossed over his chest and brows drawn down into a sort of exasperated amusement. Zedaph looks at his friends, most of them shuffling in place with excitement, some looking all around the grounds of Hermitville with a fond melancholy sketched across their features, with a few people, like Tango and Grian, making tempting promises of flying to the next world all by themselves if this whole situation doesn’t get solved soon. Zedaph smiles at this and Impulse, who is standing next to him and Tango, shakes his head, but his smile is barely contained, too. Truth is, they are all impatient to join a new world and to start over from zero, Zedaph basically vibrating in place with a wide grin across his face.

Xisuma has his hands on his hips and looks at Doc with what Zedaph can only assume to be suspicion, seeing as his helmet is nicely sitting on his head, obscuring any emotion from view, although, the tone of his voice says enough.

“Yes, you’ve tested it, but has it ever been used to actually jump worlds, Doc?”, he muses aloud and, well, Zedaph thinks he has a point, but the call of the unknown is quite tempting, as well. Doc scoffs and pushes himself away from the infinity portal, giving the diamond blocks of the frame, which, truth be told, look absolutely magnificent in the light of the noon sun, a pat.

“Not like we would have had the chance, X, we don’t jump worlds everyday, you know?”, Doc comments, “But I think we should go for it anyways.”

Xisuma sighs and runs a palm down his helmet, the silence, only broken by the chattering of birds flying overhead and some other small animals hopping around in the grass, hiding tension thick enough to rival the density of the honey blocks they were promised in the next world. Keralis moves away the crowd, stepping forward with a carelessly happy expression plastered on his face, his cap slightly lopsided. 

“Yeah, you always get so tired after getting us to a new world, Shishwamy, let’s just try this method out too, I say!”, Keralis exclaims and pumps his fist in the air, turning to the other hermits. There’s murmurs of eager agreement from the crowd and Zedaph himself lets out a cheer, feeling giddy at the prospect of _finally_ getting on with things.

Xisuma looks across at the small army of people who, if he doesn’t give an answer to soon, will just jump through the portal regardless, and if the way Zedaph is grabbing both Impulse and Tango by the elbows, almost running in place with the thrill of a new adventure, is anything to go by, he would most certainly be right.

“ _X_...”, Bdubs whines, frown so accentuated that it looks hilarious, especially with the way he is bouncing his foot on the ground hard enough to scare off a few butterflies who were just trying to mind their own business.

“C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon_!”, Zedaph chants and Impulse chuckles at this, but then Tango joins in on the chanting and suddenly, Impulse is the only only one holding them back from just going for it. For a few moments, it’s like the whole world holds its breath, until…

“Oh, alright, _fine_ ”, Xisuma raises his hands in defeat and there’s a loud cheer erupting from the small crowd, “We’ll try the portal, **but**!”

Zedaph stops so suddenly from the beeline he was making for the swirling filament of bluish purple magic that Tango stumbles over him and, were it not for Impulse holding them back, they probably would have fallen right through the portal.

“I’m going first. If anything goes wrong, I can come back here, so give me… Five minutes. After that, come in one at a time and wait at least 30 seconds between each jump, yeah?”, Xisuma concludes, getting a couple of nods and a lot more overeager silence as a reply, and makes his way over to the infinity portal without too much fuss. And then he disappears in the portal, off to a new world.

Slowly, the chatter starts back up as, after the, probably, five minutes that Xisuma indicated, though who is counting other than Mumbo who is looking like a perfectly balanced mix of queasiness and enthusiasm, are up and more and more hermits pass through.

He and Impulse laugh at Tango as he cannonballs himself through the portal with a loud yell of something that Zedaph doesn’t quite catch, because, the magic warbling the sound combined with the chatter growing ever so slightly, despite the numbers of people slowly vanishing, makes any words that aren’t yelled out slowly and clearly incomprehensible. Zedaph watches as Impulse passes through, a small, maybe even partially nervous smile on his face, straightening his back and then, a few more people later, it’s his turn.

And despite all of his earlier exhilaration and restlessness about finally jumping to another world, as is custom for Zedaph whenever they move on from a past, “finished” world, this time feels _different_ somehow. There’s a nervousness that starts fluttering in his belly and his heart speeds up when he approaches the infinity portal, when he is face to face with it, when he is just about to go through and join everyone who already jumped on the other side and Zedaph isn’t sure what is different. Maybe it’s just because this is the first time they’re using a portal, the first time they’re using _magic_ to jump worlds? Xisuma is usually the one to teleport them each individually, as is his duty as a leader and admin, Xisuma always says, despite the toll it takes on him, and maybe Zedaph is just a bit tense at the thought of something new.

They don’t usually take things with them, after all, that is the whole point of their jumps between worlds, to start anew with a blank canvas, to rejuvenate their creativity and, in a way, their whole small community, but Zedaph’s hand clenches on the only thing that he never leaves behind, no matter how many worlds they go through, the only thing that he has kept ever since he joined the hermits, the only thing that he has from his past which, to this day, he is still a bit clueless about, a small, oval shaped moonstone, blue and dotted with particles which break the light into multiple colours all over it’s smooth surface. It’s his comfort item, Impulse once said, and Zedaph thinks he might be right.

Regardless, though, Zedaph can feel the high-strung gaggle of emotions coming from the hermits behind him growing, so, with a last breath and a series of loud exhales and exaggerated stretches, Zedaph jumps through.

* * *

At first, it is too dark to see anything, something akin to wind, but somehow _off_ , whipping past his cheeks as the magic rushes around him in dizzying swirls, engulfing him and turning him to bare particles before putting him back together. In a way, it’s quite similar to being teleported by Xisuma, except everything is so much faster and the magic feels just that bit less personal, just that little bit too quick and unfamiliar. It makes Zedaph keep his eyes shut tightly, despite seeing it, even from behind his eyelids; the light flooding in. Eventually, it does become too much and he _has_ to open his eyes, but that is only because, suddenly, there’s a sharp pang of pain that cuts right through Zedaph. It quickly grows worse, setting his nerves on fire, spreading from just below his ribcage to his whole body and he opens his mouth to scream, but no other sound other than the whizzing of the magic flowing past him makes it to his own ears. It feels like his veins turn to ice and his heart cracks under the pressure of it, under the weight of the light surrounding him.

And just as quickly as it started, the pain fades, leaving him feeling fuzzy and numb, his fists closed so tightly that he feels his nails pierce through the skin of his palms, one hand tightening even more so on his little moonstone. Zedaph cracks his eyes open, only to catch the violet swirls fading from his vision, breaking apart to reveal a brilliant blue sky that seems to extend itself in the ocean surrounding them, the sparkling waves gently hitting the golden shores of a very, _very_ small island, especially given the fact that most of the hermits are lining it’s very edges in a wonky circle.

And it doesn’t help that, in Zedaph’s eyes, the number of people doubles, just for a second, before Zedaph blinks the dizziness away, mostly successfully. He doesn’t realise he is partially bent over, hands on his knees, breathing a bit heavily, until he straightens himself up with an exhale.

“Zed…?”, he hears Tango’s voice from his right and then feels a hand on his shoulder, a steady pressure being the last thing Zedaph needs before he manages to pull himself back from whatever _that_ had been.

He jumps up, plastering the biggest smile he can muster on his face, despite how the action does nothing for the light, but still there, feeling of vertigo left over by the portal.

“Quite a ride, that one was!”, he laughs for good measure and Tango grins at him, at least, as far as Zedaph can tell, his eyesight still just on the wrong side of blurry. 

“Felt kinda cool, didn’t it?”, Tango basically jumps in place as he asks, but is dragged by the scruff of his neck by Impulse, who gives his boyfriend a fond look, before shooting a glance at Zedaph. He nods, Zedaph’s fine after all, the trip was just a bit much, but he is _fine._

It’s not long before all the hermits are gathered at spawn and _definitely_ not long before Xisuma is done with his little speech, if one can even call it that and then everyone is swimming away in different directions. By now, any remaining feelings of unwellness have all but dissipated and Zedaph is happily chattering behind Impulse as he swims around, probably swallowing more water than is healthy, but either way, with his stone in his pocket and the portal shenanigans over, Zedaph is finally ready to do what he always does whenever they start a new world: look at everything as though he’d never seen it before and it’s the most glorious thing the world could possibly show him. Eventually, he sees a patch of land that looks inviting enough and he bids goodbye to Impulse before clambering on it.

His clothes hang off of him as he goes about making himself a set of wooden tools and chasing judgemental chickens about, but as night settles around him, Zedaph decides to go caving. 

All in all, it is a good start to a new world, Zedaph would say, looking up at the mountain range that he’s decided to grace with his presence and which he deems grand enough to, bit by bit, turn into his base. It doesn’t hurt that Tango and Impulse aren’t too far away, either, team ZIT getting back together to join forces and bring about crazy amounts of silliness, TNT and destruction to this world as well.

Zedaph smiles a bit at the thought, digging into the very core of the mountain and admiring how many farms and machinery thingy-bajingies he could fit in the cave he’d call home after he hollows it all out.

He doesn’t even wait to dig out a bit more of the cave and just starts working on his very first invention, a non-conventional furnace that, dare he say, is mighty impressive in concept _and_ in practice, truly a contraption that Zedaph can be proud of as he giggles at the hermits stuttering at all of the inefficiencies that Zedaph can think of. A contraption… A cave… Filled with contraptions… A Contraption Cave. A Cave of Contraptions! Zedaph smiles at the furnace before nailing a sign on it.

The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, however, as he thinks about his friends, the tips of his ears and his cheeks heating up with a blush that makes a bitter pang of guilt flutter inside his stomach. Zedaph shakes his head, trying to get back into the mindset of admiring his brand new jump-powered furnace, because he _is_ proud of himself. Zedaph decides maybe he needs to get some air now, shaking off any negative thoughts as best as he can, so he goes outside to look at the area surrounding his mountain to see if there’s anything useful to be found.

He is going to have fun and get in trouble with Impulse and Tango, as they always seem to do, because that’s just how their _friendship_ is. Zedaph walks on, looking at the trees, at the grass, at the flowers decorating the forest, at the bit of desert just in front of his cave, trying to seem unbothered, smiling at all of the ideas that flash in his mind for not only his little-but-will-be-expanded-at-a-later-date Cave of Contraptions, but also for all the pranks he could and will pull in this brand new world and all of the minigames he’ll make and all of the rhymes for shops that he could use, only to file them to be remembered at a later time, because...

Puppy!

Looking at the fluffball standing on the ledge of a ravine, all thoughts basically disappear from Zedaph’s head, replaced by happy squeals at the cute little thing that Zedaph will rescue and love forever.

* * *

Zedaph returns to his new base with wet clothes, again, and a dog trailing after him, affectionately named Clifford because he looks like an intelligent little fellow and that is the perfect name for him, Zedaph decides, even if he himself isn’t, what with his inefficient ways spreading to things other than contraptions, too. But alas, Zedaph returns home with a big smile on his face and a warm feeling in his chest. The sun is just about to set outside and, truly it had been an exhausting day, so Zedaph simply grabs one of the blankets off of his bed and makes a little bed for Clifford before taking his wet clothes off, carefully taking his moonstone out of the pocket of his trousers and cuddling into bed, only to feel paws press against his chest. Zedaph laughs, wheezes a bit, too, because _ouch_ , but raises the blanket for Clifford to cuddle right next to him.

His eyes feel heavy and Zedaph is on the verge of sleep, surrounded by warmth, hugging a puppy to his chest and filled with a muted sort of excitement for the days to come, when he feels it.

He usually sleeps keeping his little stone between his fingers, sometimes pulling it close to his chest. It’s a habit that he’s formed over the years and it’s something he’s never _not_ done, so he knows exactly how the texture of the moonstone feels beneath his finger pads. It’s smooth, always cold, even if he holds it in his warm palms for prolonged periods of time and in the right light, it shines in all the colours of the light spectrum, forming a veritable miniature rainbow on its blue surface.

But right now, and Zedaph swipes his thumb over the same spot just to be sure, he can feel just the tiniest of cracks along the surface of the stone, barely more than a scratch and, for just a second, his stomach drops. Clifford nuzzles his neck in question as Zedaph raises himself on his elbows, looking at the stone in the faded light provided by the torches littering the cave. It’s truly a small mark, nothing to be worried about, he tells himself, but it’s like another part of him knows better and it tells him that this _means_ something. Zedaph shakes his head and scratches behind Clifford’s ear, the dog yapping happily before rolling into a ball again and coaxing Zedaph into going back to bed himself.

It’s just a scratch, Zedaph tells himself as he closes his eyes. _It’s just a scratch_ , but somehow, it makes Zedaph feel uneasy, even as he drifts off into dreamland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together* >:3


	2. Regress and Advance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're all adapting to their newest world, but Zedaph sees something else unravelling. Change, he thinks. Nothing more, he hopes.

He wakes up with fingers so stiff that he can barely feel them, let alone move them. It’s a similar sensation to that of a limb going numb if submerged in cold water for too long, but it’s also different, somehow, less of a fuzzy feeling of blood flowing back into an area and more of a complete lack of any feeling at all. Zedaph is, to put it mildly, a bit worried, a bit shocked, too, as it were, but it only takes a few minutes before he regains control of his fingers and the alien feeling from before becomes only a vague, albeit freaky memory. With a sigh, Zedaph pushes the blanket aside, only to swoon over the dog nestled at his side, panting softly and looking up at Zedaph with warm brown eyes which remind him of a certain someone with a certain warmth always gracing his features and brown eyes so very similar to Clifford’s. Zedaph smiles and gives Clifford a belly rub, to which the puppy rolls over, tongue lolling out and tail wagging energetically. Before he can confine himself to a day in bed playing and fawning over his new dog, however, Zedaph stretches his arms above his head and jumps out of bed with a movement so sudden that, for a second, he gets a bit dizzy.

Clifford gives him a betrayed yip and Zedaph chuckles as the puppy rolls back into a ball, intentionally looking away from his owner. Zedaph takes a moment to gather himself from the joy his little puppy manages to instill in him by simply existing and starts putting his usual clothes back on. Looking through his chests reveals a worryingly low amount of, well, everything, especially given the fact that the first thing Zedaph had done when he’d found a place to settle in was build his very first contraption which, surprisingly indeed, had taken more resources to build than it was worth, what with nonfunctionality kind of being Zedaph’s main goal for this world. He frowns as he grabs a bit of cooked kelp to munch on while he tries to somewhat organize what he’s managed to gather, a thought forming in his head. If he goes mining, he will surely get more resources, maybe he’ll even find some diamonds, and afterwards, Zedaph can work on his base some more, can attempt to find out just how much he can hollow this mountain out before it becomes too unstable.

With a half-formed schedule for the day, a barely-still-held-together-by-a-couple-of-straps iron chestplate and a set of trusty iron tools, Zedaph ventures out, digging a small tunnel for himself leading downwards and hoping to stumble upon a cave system sooner rather than later. 

* * *

Finding the zombie spawner is a surprise, a welcome surprise for sure, seeing as Zedaph will definitely need a way to get enough XP to enchant a set of better tools during the early days of this world, but a surprise nonetheless. He manages to light it up relatively quickly, however, a zombie sneaking up behind him _does_ somehow escape Zedaph’s immediate notice, allowing it to get a nasty bite in and, suddenly, Zedaph is back in his bed, heart racing and dizziness slamming into him full force, which is quite odd, considering he usually only ever feels dizzy after respawning when his death has something to do with gravel and suffocation of some sort. Clifford barks at him from where he’s perched on top of his furnace, warming up on the last vestiges of warmth from this morning's usage of the machine, and Zedaph gives him a smile before rubbing his own temple and forcing himself back to his feet, determined to get his stuff back.

Thankfully, from what Zedaph can tell, his items are all still there and it doesn’t take Zedaph all too long to plan out a way to get the zombies back to his Cave of Contraptions for easy access, thoughts of how to most ineffectively kill them for XP and loot already bouncing around his head as he works, but those will have to wait a while longer. 

* * *

As it turns out, zombies are quite _sociable_ creatures, and Zedaph loses his life to them a few more times as he tries to get to a point where he can fight them from the comfort of his base, which still has him waking up in bed with a dizziness and a subtle headache, and, after quite the failed villager bait plan, one that has Zedaph visiting Impulse and attempting not to show how truly flustered he is, and a quick redesign of the tunnel leading the undead to the cave, he finally grabs his communicator with the goal asking Tango to come over and help out. If his cheeks are reddening just the slightest bit at the eager answer of his _friend_ , Zedaph has to remind his racing heart, then, that Tango doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s standing quite close to the glass cage, eyeing the undead with a frown that, supposedly, will intimidate them into following his rules if he does so for long enough, when he hears his door open. Zedaph had been expecting him, but regardless, he loses his focus a little bit, and, given the proximity he has to the groaning and moaning crowd cramped into a space as small as physically possible, it’s enough for one of the zombies to take its chance and reach out far enough to scratch Zedaph’s cheek. He hisses and jumps back.

Zedaph can hear laughter approaching him from the entrance of his cave, so he squares up and turns his earlier frown on a heavily amused Tango.

“When you mentioned they were being too sociable, Zed, I didn’t really expect _you_ to be the target of their affections”, Tango announces as he eyes Zedaph up before turning to look at the killing chamber, a lopsided grin still plastered on his face. Zedaph huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, the corners of his lips twitching at the effort it takes to not laugh at the zombies’ comedic timing.

“What can I say, I am quite the ladies' man”, he retorts simply and hears Tango snort. Zedaph looks at him then and Tango pulls him in a one-armed hug, making Zedaph stand on his tiptoes just a little bit as he reaches for Tango’s golden hair with grabby hands.

“Oh, a _killer_ with the ladies, are you?”, Tango pulls away just enough, so that Zedaph can’t indulge in one of his favourite past-times, messing Tango’s hair up as much as possible, which, really, doesn’t do much, visually speaking, given the naturally chaotic spiked look that Tango has stopped bothering with a long time ago. Zedaph tuts, shakes his head at the pun, as is custom, and grins so wide that his cheeks hurt.

“Hi, Tango, glad you could make it”, Zedaph finally says, pulling away to look at Tango with a hand on his hip. Tango opens his mouth to say something, but then he is being tackled down by a happily barking Clifford.

“Oh gosh”, Tango laughs as the puppy licks at his face and slobbers all over Zedaph’s, admittedly not very fancy floor. 

“My, Clifford seems to like you”, Zedaph laughs, a soft feeling bubbling up in his chest, attempting to grab onto other feelings that already lie there, but Zedaph manages to push _those_ down just in time for Tango to look up from where he’s now holding a barking and wiggling Clifford to his chest like an oversized plushie. There’s a somewhat odd look in his eyes and Zedaph tilts his head at it, at first, but Tango is still smiling, so he shrugs inwardly and decides it can’t be anything bad, then.

“Feeling’s mutual, Zed”, Tango says a bit dazedly, still looking at Zedaph, and Clifford licks his cheek before sniffing him with excitement that almost makes Zedaph jealous. Clifford is supposed to be his dog, and Tango is supposed to be- 

“Well, then!”, Zedaph claps his hands together, holding them in front of his mouth and directing an intense stare towards the zombies, still as undead and as groany as before. Tango gets to his feet, the puppy bouncing around his feet for a while longer before running and leaping at the furnace contraption, where he lays on one of the warmed components with his head on his paws and a waggling tail, eyes following Zedaph and Tango.

“Yes, zombies bringing friends to the party”, Tango muses, rubbing his chin between his fingers, “‘Dunno.”

Zedaph almost nods before doing a double take. He looks at Tango with wide eyes before sputtering for a bit in disbelief, throwing a glance at the zombies, then looking back at Tango.

“But you- This is _your_ area of expertise!”, Zedaph tries to reason with a pout. Tango laughs a little and rubs the back of his head, spiking up some strands of hair that were sitting there too neatly, indeed.

“Eh, if the _expert_ doesn’t know, then there’s nothing to be done”, Tango shrugs, almost bursting into laughter midway through, and Zedaph sighs, both hands on his hips now, “It’s really more about luck than it is about a specific setup.”

Luck, what is that even supposed to _mean_? Luck…

Zedaph’s eyes brighten as an idea hits him. He looks between Tango and the glass cage holding back the undead, smile slowly growing more and more as details form a more precise vision in his head of something a lot more _fun_ and a lot less predictable for getting rid of zombies than just a plain old killing chamber.

He’s so caught up in imagining the details of his next contraption that it takes Tango waving, and then snapping his fingers in front of his face actually bring Zedaph back to the current situation.

“ _He_ _llo_ , Earth to Zedaph”, he chimes in and Zedaph turns to him with an excited expression. Zedaph waves Tango over to the exit of his base, which is also the entrance because, indeed, Zedaph muses, that’s how those usually work.

“Yes, still here, but now shoo, I’ve got... ”

“A _good_ idea?”

“An **idea**!”

And with that, Tango starts walking back to his own base, a nice wooden build near the water that Zedaph makes a note to visit when he’s got more time, but right now, Zedaph has got _Zombie Plinko_ to work on.

* * *

It’s so cold and dark that, for a moment, for a terrifyingly long moment, Zedaph thinks this might be what death feels like, and not the one he could respawn from, no, this feels like the sort of sleep that will never allow him back into the land of the waking, the one that claims and never gives back, the one that veils your mind and drains you soul the longer you sit in its embrace. And yet, he can hear laughter from somewhere, it’s coming from below, and it sounds so… happy. Zedaph turns in place, the cold turning his bones to ice and his skin to frost, trying to _see_ , but alas, there’s no light, there’s nothing other than himself in this lonely world.

But then, _then_ there’s _too much_ light. It floods the space around him in a bluish glow that brings no warmth with it. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like death anymore, it feels like a _cage_.

Zedaph looks around, squinting against his blinding surroundings, but his voice won’t work and all he can do is stare with wide eyes as the light takes shape. _She_ reaches a clawed hands toward him and _he can’t move, he can’t scream, he can’t-_

Zedaph startles awake, shooting up in his bed, a sheen of cold sweat covering his entire body, lungs struggling to give him enough air, what with the way his breath just keeps wheezing out him without settling long enough to calm him down. His eyes are wide and his base is only illuminated by all the torches haphazardly thrown down onto the floor, but Zedaph has a hunch that it’s still dark outside, if the way his tired brain seems even more exhausted than before he settled into bed for the night means anything, but with his heart beating so erratically, Zedaph doesn’t think he wants to go back to sleep. The last bit of his dream is still imprinted in his retinas and the silhouette of the hand makes him blink quickly, trying to erase it from his memory, but he just keeps seeing it. Zedaph gets up and Clifford raises his head, but Zedaph pats him, trying to persuade him to stay in his own little place on the bed. Clifford blinks at him but settles his head back onto the soft mattress and Zedaph smiles, picking the blanket off of the bed as a shiver runs through him. Despite the cave’s vastness, somehow, without access to the sky and no windows to speak of, surrounded by stone, he suddenly feels claustrophobic, so, with limbs that he can’t quite keep from shaking, Zedaph makes his way to the entrance of his cave and, once he is under the clear night sky, he allows himself a long, if slightly shaky exhale. There’s no clouds and the stars twinkle playfully, the moon shining brightly and bathing the sand of the desert in white light, but as far as Zedaph can tell, there’s no mobs in his proximity, so he settles on the stone steps with a sigh.

“Blasted dream...”, he murmurs to himself, looking at his feet for a few seconds as he wraps the blanket tighter around his shoulder, his heart finally settling down in his chest, the adrenaline leaving only a dull headache behind as it fades from his system, before Zedaph looks back at the sky, the moonlight falling on his face, and he closes his eyes. The coolness of the night doesn’t seem as severe all of a sudden, bundled up as he is, standing in the moonlight and Zedaph smiles tiredly, knowing that he’ll have to get up soon, lest he wants to catch a cold on top of the headache that, though not particularly terrible, seems to linger.

But Zedaph waits there for a bit longer, not wanting to disturb the calmness that he’s barely managed to regain, and then, as he rises to make his way back inside, for a fraction of a second, his heart is at a stillstand as he turns his back to the desert, to the stars and to the moon, but Zedaph chalks it up to the sudden movement.

And still, just as he’s about to close the door, he throws one last glance over his shoulder at the moon. It seems a bit more dull than before, which raises a question in Zedaph’s head, but he _is_ tired, it wouldn’t be that weird for the world to start playing tricks on his eyes. Zedaph closes the door softly and, just as he’s about to fall into bed, he notices the blue shimmer of his moonstone, laying innocently next to his pillow, the torch light being reflected off of its surface onto the bed sheets in blue-tinted rays, and Zedaph smiles as he picks it up.

He holds it at eye level between gentle fingers, but his expression falters as he eyes the crack that he’d noticed the night before, because it is no longer just a scratch, but a fully-fledged, if small in size, crack. It’s not any bigger than Zedaph’s fingernail, but it’s a bit worrying, nonetheless. Perhaps, he should stop sleeping with it in his hands, Zedaph muses, having the stone laid out in his palm, where it still twinkles as always, if he doesn’t want the crack to get any worse, and though it _is_ a habit, one that Zedaph is a bit anxious to leave behind, remembering a time when he had nothing except for his moonstone, he doesn’t want it to break, either. It's _precious_ to him. With a yawn, Zedaph shuffles towards the chest where he keeps all of his most valued items, his redstone supplies, his diamonds and, from now on, the little moonstone that loses a bit of its shine as he hides it away in the shadow of the wooden chest. 

Zedaph closes the lid and goes back to bed, heart a little bit heavier, but, and he knows, he _really_ does, that some change is bound to happen, despite how Zedaph sometimes finds himself wishing for something that he can cling to, something that he can call a constant in his life, which, until tonight, had been the little moonstone that he will keep hidden at the bottom of a chest for its own good from now on, _but_ , and Zedaph yawns, wrapping himself into a little cocoon of warmth, Clifford sleepily moving so he’s standing at Zedaph’s back with his tail thrown over his owner’s blanket covered body, _there's nothing to be done for it now._

The next morning, Zedaph wakes up tired, despite sleeping until noon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pining fools, the lot of them.


	3. Final Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph needs a break after working on another contraption, but he doesn't want to be alone right now either, he almost _fears_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an almost panic attack, but not quite, starting at "He doesn't notice it at first" and it lasts the whole paragraph.  
> It's less an _actual_ panic attack and more of an emotional flashback.

It takes him a few days to get all of the timings for his Undead Plinko Contraption in order, but when all is said and done and Zedaph has a chance to step back and really look at his newest contraption, chancing a glance down at the spawner beneath the green and black glass floor, seeing the zombies flowing in, Zedaph really has to give it to himself, and not to brag, he assures no one in particular, but it looks pretty damn cool. Zedaph smiles at the zombies who, as per usual, growl and try to reach him, but ha! They can’t get past Zedaph’s amazing handiwork with the glass and-

There’s a baby zombie running at him and Zedaph has to stifle a high-pitched yell as he fumbles with his sword.

Soon, there’s a few pieces of rotten flesh on the floor and Zedaph can return to fawning over his own skills while he ponders how to get rid of the smaller zombies that he hadn’t taken into account. But still, Zedaph feels positive as he adds an additional glass chamber for the half-sized undead, joyful even, despite his eyes stinging a little bit and his movements being a tad more sluggish than they usually are, because his Cave of Contraptions is coming together nicely and that’s enough to put a smile on his face, despite the weakness bordering on pain that he feels. These past few days, he’s been sleeping, but not really feeling any better rested when he wakes up, if at all, and it is taking its toll on him, Zedaph muses as he collapses on his bed. He wonders how late it is as he buries his head in his pillow, because his body tells him that’s it’s been, approximately, a gazillion hours since he woke up this morning, but realistically, he knows it could have only been a few hours, if that. Clifford is outside playing with the cows, so Zedaph enjoys the silence, his own breath the only sound echoing through the ever expanding cave and, for a moment, he is relaxed. 

He doesn’t notice it at first, too caught up in thinking about nothing, focused on the blood pumping through his veins and rushing in his head, body splayed out half on the bed, half on the cold, stone floor with a couple of mismatched pieces of diamond and iron armour still on, doesn’t notice how the silence seems to be growing in on him, thickening like smoke filling his lungs, darkening around the edges, oppressive where it once had been comforting, but when he  _ feels _ it change, Zedaph twitches and pushes himself out of bed with a choked off breath. His heart isn’t beating at a faster pace than usual, his breathing is fine, he isn’t dripping with cold sweat, he isn’t shaking and he isn’t holding a sob in, at least, that’s what he tells himself as he wrings his hands together, because it wouldn’t make sense, if any of those things were true, because  _ nothing _ happened, literally  _ nothing _ had changed at all, not anything visible at least. But in his mind, just at the edge of consciousness, Zedaph thinks he sees something, hears something that warns him of still waters and quiet rooms, something that tells him to wary.

_ Wary of what _ , Zedaph asks himself, almost hesitantly, as he runs a hand through his hair. Indeed, nothing happened, he just got too panicked all of a sudden, there's nothing to be afraid of. The cave was too quiet for someone as full of energy as Zedaph, yes, that has to be it, he thinks as he closes his eyes and gathers himself.

He’s never felt this sort of thing, a bout of anxiousness so strong and so sudden, never without anything to trigger it, Zedaph exhales slowly, breath as controlled as possible so as to not, accidentally, throw himself back into his earlier panic, rubbing his cold fingertips together. And even so,  _ it feels familiar. _ His stomach drops a little as the feeling of dejavu comes in, strong and not particularly helpful.  _ But there's nothing here. He's alone. _

“Weirder things have felt familiar, you silly man. Dejavu is  _ already _ a weird thing, as it stands”, he tells no one in particular and his voice echoes around him as he embraces himself, a reaction to the sudden cold that settles over him. Zedaph shakes his head, purple eyes fixed on the floor.

“That settles it, then”, as he walks across the cave and towards the entrance, Zedaph takes his communicator out, fingers still a bit unsteady, though they’re responsive enough to type out what Zedaph needs to say, and that is good enough for him.

_ Zedaph: Anyone want to kill the dragon? _

**That seems a bit bland** , a part of his brain says and Zedaph nods, the tip of his tongue poking out as he pushes his way through the door with his shoulder, fingers typing away at the small device. Moonlight shines on his face and, suddenly, Zedaph feels a little bit better, even adding a smiley face at the end of his next message. He can swear that, when he’d let Clifford out what seems like barely an hour, maybe even less, ago, the sun had been up and high in the sky, barely halfway across the blue, cloudless sky. He must have stayed in bed quite a while, must have taken a longer break than he’d realised, and, after all, it isn’t the first time Zedaph finds himself zoning out and losing track of time. He glances up at the sky and at the thin slice of moon that greets him tonight. It’s a beautiful sight, really, but Zedaph, the hopeless romantic, will always have a soft spot for a full moon.

_ Zedaph: In a boat? :D _

He stands with his back to his door, looking at Clifford as he sleeps amongst the sugarcane rows. He should probably get him inside while he waits for-

Zedaph’s communicator beeps and he smiles, wasting no time as he whistles and smiles giddily, if with a hint of exhaustion showing on the edges of his smile, when Clifford shakes himself awake and bounces sleepily towards his owner. Zedaph thinks he should get a collar for Clifford as soon as he can, while he carries the pupper, who’s already nodding off again, back inside and lays him gently on his bed. He’s thinking a bow would suit him, but what colour…?

His communicator beeps again and Zedaph turns to his storage to look for anything he might need as he looks at the answers.

_ FalseSymmetry: Seems interesting, Z :) _

_ FalseSymmetry: Where do you want to meet? _

Zedaph smiles because, knowing False and knowing himself, this will  _ definitely _ be good.

_ Zedaph: Cowmmercial District sound good, lol? _

_ FalseSymmetry: Sure thing. _

It’s not much later that Zedaph finds himself in a boat on the coast of the Mooshroom Island, waving wildly at a geared up False with two buckets full of water, splashing himself a little bit in the process. False winks and brings out a bucket of her own and a faintly glowing, enchanted bow.

* * *

Maybe filling the dragon’s End island with water wasn’t that good of an idea, Zedaph thinks as she flies after them, her huge wings slicing against the water with how low she’s flying, her eerie purple eyes glowing so intensely that it not only makes Zedaph’s life flash before his very eyes, but it also gives him a very  _ vivid _ vision of how he’s going to die. It’s a very teethy death, Zedaph notes as he tries to swing his sword at the sleek form of the dragon. She flares her nostrils and dives sideways, splashing Zedaph with water that, given how drenched he already is, doesn’t really do much. Zedaph still shakes his head, pale blond strands glued onto his cheeks and threatening to poke out his eyeballs, and ducks with a squeak as purple particles fly right next to his head, a few managing to scratch his cheek.

“Let’s switch!”, False screams over the roar the dragon releases as she flies in circles just above them, and her voice is a balanced mix between caution, determination and  _ excitement _ . 

Zedaph doesn’t need to hear it twice, he throws himself back into the boat, grabbing the paddles from False and giving her free range to raise her bow, her back a strong line of barely contained power as she draws the string with nimble fingers, the muscles in her arms tensing before... 

_ Whoosh. _

False releases a perfect shot that hits the dragon’s wing, halting only for a bit before she takes another arrow out, staring at the dragon with drawn brows and waiting for the perfect moment to prepare another shot. The dragon spirals down, using only one wing to halt her momentum, her magic breath enveloping her in violet particles that turn her into a very dangerous torpedo of purpur.

“Good thinking, False! I knew I made the right decision when I let you prote- I mean,  _ help _ me fight the dragon”, he calls with a laugh as he paddles as quickly as he can towards the spot where the dragon will most likely fall. He's getting tired, but it won't be long, Zedaph knows. False grins and finally draws her bow once more, one eye closed as she aims for, presumably, the dragons other wing. Zedaph lets out a little gasp as the arrows embeds itself in her tail instead, but False has a confident look on her face, blonde hair whipping around her in a way Zedaph deems as very epic, a halo of gold whipping last her shoulders, so he thinks she must have done it on purpose, until:

“Uh oh”, and False dives back into the boat, picks up her own sword and jumps out of the boat, heading for the dragon that’s  _ slithering _ her way too them with movements so quick that it’s making Zedaph dizzy, and he’s not even the one that’s about to fight her like when she's like  _ that. _

He grabs False’s bow and draws the string, aiming for the dragon’s general form, because that’s the best thing  _ he _ can do with a bow. Meanwhile, False manages to get her sword right into the dragon’s business, having sliced a gash that bleeds glowing purple from her chest, staining the water around her black. She sways where she stands, her enormous black wings snapped open behind her, casting a shadow over both False and Zedaph, but before he can even process how damn terrifying that sight is, False calls out to him.

“Hey, Zedaph! C’mon, I left you the last hit!”, she throws her sword at him and Zedaph drops the bow unceremoniously, almost shooting the arrow that he’s been aiming into his own face, but still fumbles as he catches the leather-bound hilt of the blue sword. Adrenaline flows through him, so Zedaph only winces a  _ little _ bit as he jumps out of the boat and into the cold water. He makes his way to the dragon, having to avoid her magic breath as she snorts a few of the highly painful little sparks his way. 

And then, as Zedaph approaches, something  _ odd _ happens.

The dragon twitches, as if she wants to jump on him and tear him to shreds, and Zedaph is sure she does, but then she stills just as he gets close enough to deal the final blow. False is already making her way back to their boat to, no doubt, inspect her bow and decide if she has to kick his bum or not. Meanwhile, the dragon in front of him looks so still that, for a second, Zedaph thinks she might have already succumbed to her injuries, but then…

Then her glowing eyes widen as she fixes her gaze on him and Zedaph tilts his head to the side. She looks at him like someone she knows, not like a human that's out to fight her before she respawns, not like prey, like there’s something more going on behind the eerie purple gaze that Zedaph isn’t sure what to make of. The sword shakes in his trembling grip.

And then the dragon speaks just as he slashes at her chest, eyes closed because Zedaph can't bear to look, just before her body erupts into flakes of magic and light.

_ “∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ↸𝙹╎リ⊣ ᓭ𝙹 ⎓ᔑ∷ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ᒲ𝙹𝙹リꖎ╎リ⊣?” _

And Zedaph blinks because, not only does the light blind him a little, but because, what the hell does  _ that _ mean? It doesn’t sound like words, even if the syllables are somewhat similar to those used in normal speech, they drip with meaning that Zedaph cannot understand because he does not speak endish, has never learned how, and yet, it sounds like something that he’s heard before, something that, if he tries hard enough, he could maybe  _ respond _ to, something that lies on the tip of his tongues, just-

“Everything alright, Zedaph?”, False asks, suddenly beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her and smiles, offering her sword back as he feels the chill of the water settle in.

“Fine? No no, Falsie, I am  _ glorious _ ”, he says with wonder in his tone that manages to hide his confusion because, really, that had been so cool and so weird that Zedaph can’t help but smile. False grins and arranges the goggles on her head, sheathing her sword and strapping her bow to her back. They make their way back to their boat together and, then, they push it through the portal, ready to go back to the overworld and have a laugh at how  _ ridiculous _ this whole endeavour had been.

Except Zedaph has something else to think about, as well, but he pushes that to the side, for now.

* * *

When he makes it back to his base, Zedaph’s heart is a little bit lighter, his armour even more scratched up and the incident from earlier half-forgotten. In fact, he can feel a surge of creativity taking shape inside his head, something about teams of two, boats and a whole lot of water. He smiles and yawns, staring at the sky. The sun is about to set, and yet, instead of being a bit more stressed out about the mobs that spawn whenever darkness allows it, he is still calm and content, leisurely admiring his own mountain and the contrast that its outward appearance will pitch against the ever-growing and ever-evolving inside of his Cave of Contraptions.

Zedaph yawns again and finally goes inside, ready to just discard his wet clothes and crash into his bed, his body so tired that he might just forgo any clothing change whatsoever.

And if a little confusion after today’s sudden bout of anxiety and the dragon actually having  _ words _ with him still lingers, it’s overshadowed by how at ease Zedaph is at the moment. Or maybe by how drained he feels, Zedaph can't quite tell.

He should go out more, Zedaph thinks to himself when he finally lays in bed, hugging Clifford to him, who licks his face once before rolling on top of Zedaph with a fluid movement. Loneliness doesn’t have a very positive effect on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zed: yeah, that was weird. Let's avoid that for forever.  
> Me: gdi you silly gay bABY-


	4. Chases and Loses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Head Game starts and Zedaph thinks this might work well as good distraction from more pressing matters. Tango and Impulse, as it turns out, are even bigger distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm jumping around canon, either not writing some events and mentioning them, changing them up or yeeting some into the void and forgetting about them, but _oh boy_ , is this fun >:3

Zedaph is looking through his chests while Clifford bounces around him, ready for a walk and some epic adventures, Zedaph is sure, but Zedaph urges the overly excited puppy to wait a little bit longer as he searches for some food other than the dried kelp that almost all of his meals had consisted of these days, but there’s really not much to be found, other than the wheat that he is growing just outside his base meant for the cows, which, at this point, he doesn't want to turn into beef yet, so after pondering over the issue for a while, he decides that a visit to the, appropriately and very lovingly nicknamed, Cowmmerical District is in order. If he also glances around for a book that might give him some hint on how endish works in one of the bookshops he already knows have cropped up, then that is just a coincidence, Zedaph tells with himself as the puppy looks at him with big brown eyes. He looks back at Cliff with the most affectionate expression he can muster and then Zedaph takes the puppy in his arms and hugs him for a while before he starts to walk towards the door.

A journey by boat is the most efficient way to get there, so that is exactly what Zedaph does, rowing happily while Clifford bates at the ocean’s surface with his paws, Zedaph having to grab him by the white ribbon collar, the one that he'd fashioned a few days ago while taking a break from working on his second contraption, to keep from falling over and, despite having to take a couple more breaks than usual before he gets there, Zedaph is in good spirits when he does, even if he's a little out of breath. He knows there’s all sorts of edible items being sold, which is quite reassuring, despite his ever diminishing stash of diamonds, though Zedaph is partial to some stake. Here’s to hoping it won’t be too expensive.

There’s not a lot of people around, at least as far as Zedaph can tell, but he does spot Cleo standing on a giant mushroom, so he waves at her and smiles when she waves back, before looking down at her hands, busy typing something into her communicator device. Zedaph tilts his head a little, but Clifford barks from where he’s run off to, leaping over small mycelium hurdles and heading towards a… Stage?

Zedaph squint at the build in the distance, managing to make up the letters “head” and “game” and suddenly, it makes sense. Cleo had said something about the Head Game in the chat and that it entailed quite the prize in diamonds. There was also a deadline for signing up and…

“Oh, Zedaph, you goof!”, he breaks into a run, remembering very clearly how he’d told himself that he’d sign up soon, he still had time, so it was  _ fine _ . How foolish he’d been.

Clifford runs ahead of him, barking happily as he starts chasing a mooshroom. His communicator dings and, with as much grace as he can manage, which isn’t much, admittedly, Zedaph reads over the message from Cleo. He thinks he can hear faint laughter from where he saw Cleo last, but with the blood rushing in his ears, it's a bit hard to tell.

_ ZombieCleo: Cutting it fine Z ;) _

Zedaph curses his own forgetfulness as he takes out his iron sword, his grip a bit too tight on its leather-wrapped handle as he scratches his name onto an empty sign on the PVP board of the game. A look at his communicator's clock shows just how  _ close _ he’d been cutting it and Zedaph smiles to himself, a few drops of sweat dripping down his face. Clifford bounces up beside him, nuzzling his leg and, just before Zedaph has time to pick up his little puppy and give him a kiss, as he deserves, there’s an arrow whizzing past his ear and a ding from his communicator.

_ ZombieCleo: The Head Game has officially started! _

Zedaph looks around, urging Clifford to hide in one of the collection barrels for the Head Game, because the first thing that goes through Zedaph's head when the second arrow scratches his thigh is that he has to make sure that his dog is safe, even if he knows that no one would ever go for someone's pet or any relatively peaceful mobs, but accidents  _ could _ happen. There’s the feeling of rushing adrenaline through his veins, all of a sudden, and he’s barely put Clifford into a safe place before another arrow lands at his feet. Zedaph gulps and looks around one more time, but doesn’t see anyone other than Cleo on the-

There’s a flash of blue, a diamond armoured figure disappearing behind one of the columns spread throughout the platform and Zedaph gives a short scream as he runs around, raising his shield and trying to hide from the ever increasing amount of arrows that keep flying towards him, even as he realises it’s  _ Grian _ chasing him and, more importantly,  _ Grian with an elytra _ , and he knows that there’s not much he can do at this point, but regardless, Zedaph jumps off of the game’s stage and runs as fast as he can, kicking mycelium and dirt behind him as he does, for about two seconds before seeing a cave, in a moment of brilliance, rushing towards it, prepared to dig himself away from all of his problems and-

* * *

In the end, he doesn’t dig himself an escape route, but rather, his own “grave”. He doesn’t even have the time to think up some other marvelous plan as, it seems, merely a moment passes before Grian is standing at the end of the tunnel that Zedaph has managed to hastily mine out and, with a sword cutting through him, not hesitating, thus not prolonging his death, it ends. Zedaph loses not only his “head”, but his pride as well. The latter is the one that hurts the most, but it’s not like anyone needs to  _ know _ that.

Except, when Zedaph  _ does _ respawn, it’s not quite as it usually happens. He shoots up in his own bed, back home, and he can’t help but shiver at the way a chill seems to spread throughout his body. Somehow, it feels less like the effect a cooler environment would have on him, and more like the ominous feeling of being watched and the chill that comes with it, but Zedaph chooses to shake his head in ignorance and boat back to the Cowmmercial District to get his things and his beloved dog back, pushing the uncomfortable sensation of not having respawned quite  _ right _ to the back of his mind.

When he gets there, finally, Zedaph finds a sheepish looking Grian standing on top of a chest placed on the platform, a highly amused Cleo laughing and wheezing as she tries to take off and run from the very game that she’s started and a curious, respectively, worried looking Tango and Impulse.

Tango looks at Zedaph as he gets out of his boat and greets him with a wave of his hand, but before they have any chance to start a conversation, Zedaph runs back to the Head Game platform to retrieve Clifford and, dog now acquired, he walks back to the three hermits with a somewhat somber expression on his face.

“Worst. Shopping trip. Ever”, he says, voice as serious as he can manage while Clifford wiggles in his arms, ready to pounce on all three of the people in front of him. Zedaph might be holding back a few chuckles of his own, but that's neither here nor there.

Grian smiles innocently as he sits up from the chest that, presumably, holds Zedaph’s items, and pats it a couple of times reassuringly.

“Maybe so, but at least  _ you’re _ not a coward”, Grian shrugs, very subtly, indeed, looking at Tango, who makes an offended noise before Impulse lays a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

“Oh, you wanna go, G man? Gimme a time and place!”, he blurts out, stance changing into a fighting position, although the smile adorning his face indicates that it’s all in good fun. Grian just laughs and prepares his rockets.

“Nah, I’ve got these points I need to cash in. See you all later and thanks for the head, Zedaph!”, and with that, Grian is off, though his cackling can still be heard even as he flies further and further away from the mooshroom island, but Zedaph returns his attention to the puppy still squirming in his arms, so he puts him down gently and, instantly, he’s on Tango, nuzzling at his face and yaping merrily. Tango crouches to Clifford’s level and, before Impulse or Zedaph can say another word, the two are rolling around in the mycelium, laughing and barking at one another. Zedaph thinks he might swoon at the scene before him and notes how bright Tango’s red eyes are as he baby talks Zedaph's dog, but there’s also some pain hidden in the goofy smile that Zedaph can't seem to keep off of his face, because it literally  _ hurts _ , being face to face with a prime example of just how kind and playful Tango is, no longer able to deny just what it does to him, seeing one of the men he… Seeing Tango so happy, seeing his smile, hearing his raspy laugh and just overall  _ existing _ in the vicinity of such a bright person. His cheeks are heating up, so Zedaph turns his gaze away, but that, as it turns out, is a mistake. He looks up at Impulse instead, a “hello there” on the tip of his tongue, but his heart kicks into overdrive as he notices that Impulse is looking at him, brown eyes warm and just as gentle as they always are. The corners of Impulse's lips are upturned ever so slightly and he looks so  _ affectionate _ , it's almost hard to believe he'd direct that look at a friend, but Zedaph has to get his head out of the gutter, it's just a platonic sort of care that Impulse has for him, nothing more. 

"What are you two up to on this day?", Zedaph ends up asking, pretending that the slightly higher pitch of his voice is intentional, opening his arms as Clifford decides he's had enough of roughhousing with Tango on the ground and jumps back in Zedaph's arms.

"Wanted to check on each of our shops, so we came together", Impulse hums as he reaches out a hand to scratch behind Clifford's ear, who pants and attempts to lick at Impulse's wrist while Zedaph's eyes trail up his arm and he notes the muscle that's partially hidden by a short, dark sleeve. Zedaph's blush darkens and he shakes his head, keeping himself from sighing wistfully, and changes his grip on Clifford, so that the dog can, instead, lick at Impulse's cheek, who just laughs and tries to get out of kissing range, but Zedaph giggles and follows him with his, very endearing, might he add, canine weapon of absolute destruction, or as Iskall would say, of doom.

"Tango, help me out here?!", Impulse calls out, wheezing as Clifford slobbers all over his face and barks, eyes so filled with joy that it warms Zedaph to his very core.

"Here come the reinforcements", is the last thing Zedaph hears before arms wrap around his waist and lift him just a few inches off of the ground as Zedaph lets out a squeak, his own arms tightening around his dog as Tango hugs him, effectively trapping Zedaph in a very warm and very  _ hands on _ cage. Zedaph flushes hotly and kicks his legs out, trying to get a foot into the pinkish grey ground beneath him, but with his hands full and Tango just twirling him around and away from Impulse, there's not much Zedaph can do to escape or to hold his giggles in. Eventually, Tango ends up stumbling as his shoulder hits a giant mushroom stem and the world spins a little bit as all three of them, hermits and dog alike, fall over, Clifford bouncing out of his arms and running around them in circles. Impulse shakes his head like the exasperated mother hen that he is and pats Clifford's head as the puppy turns his affection on Impulse's legs and Impulse looks at the laughing mess of limbs that Tango and Zedaph have become. Zedaph's side hurts a little bit from where he's fallen, but he can barely feel it, what with the ache in his lungs caused by him wheezing his life away. Impulse joins them and looms over them, two hands outstretched. The sun shining behind him outlines Impulse in such a way that Zedaph's breath is caught in his throat, his smile brighter than the blocked out sun and his eyes holding so much warmth that it almost seems as though they burn through Zedaph. Tango grabs one hand and jumps back up to his feet, kissing Impulse's cheek with a big grin. Zedaph staples his usual smile over his features and uses the mushroom that they'd run into as support, waving Impulse's hand away.

"Ah, yes. My hero", Impulse rolls his eyes fondly at Tango and tangles his fingers with his boyfriend's before he looks down at Zedaph with a tender smile, a hint of worry in his gaze. Zedaph is frozen in place at the casual gestures of affection between the two, his heart doing flips inside his chest, but they're not fun flips, the sort of flips that he sees Tango doing and triea imitating, only to fail miserably and laugh at his own silliness, no, these ones _hurt_. They're like little pins that punch through the skin of his chest and that move closer and closer to his heart whenever Zedaph as much as tries to take a breath while looking at the two people he…

At…

**Admit it, hiding it from yourself does nothing** , he finds himself thinking, his own voice echoing with the undeniable truths that he cannot overloo any longer, damn it, at the people he  _ loves _ . The people that hold Zedaph's heart in their hands and that love each other, the people that Zedaph would never dare step between, because the kind of connection that Impulse and Tango share is so intense that he can never even dream that it would be something they'd want someone like Zedaph interrupting, someone who, more often than not, forgets how simple logic works, someone who can't quite wrap his head around the gargantuan farms that the two can create together, even if he likes to call himself a redstoner, who makes jokes instead of smart quips, who feels like the very sky will collapse in on him if he as much as shows a  _ crack _ of his true emotions, who defines  _ himself _ with the silly things he does and-

It takes Zedaph a bit longer than he'd like to admit to realise that Tango is speaking to him. Zedaph makes sure that his smile is still in place and tries to make sense of the bit of conversation he does catch. He doesn't notice that Impulse frowns, ever so slightly, as Zedaph rips himself away from his thoughts.

"-uild battle and Impulse can choose the winner! Wouldn't that be fun, Zed?", Tango is basically jumping in place, voice filled with excitement, but Zedaph can only shake his head apologetically.

"It sure does, Tango", Zedaph answers, lying between his teeth, having no idea what Tango is actually talking about, but not wanting to annoy him by asking him to repeat himself, "But, see, I have some more stuff that I need to… Solve. At my base. And it's t-time-sensitive! A… A m-magic… Puddle? Yes, that…!"

Tango furrows his brows and opens his mouth to say something, but Zedaph has already picked Clifford up and is waving at the two clumsily while trying to hold onto the wiggling puppy.

"Next time, for sure! We'll do… Uh, that! Next time!"

And just like that, Zedaph is gone, dog at front of the boat, paddles in both hands and a deep ache inside his chest that somehow manages to eclipse the pain pulsing from his side where he thinks a bruise might be forming, but no bruise can compare to a self-induced broken heart, Zedaph thinks with a sad, choked up laugh

* * *

“Do you think he’s avoiding us?”, Impulse asks as he watches Zedaph growing smaller and smaller into the distance, a somber look on his face as he squeezes Tango’s hand in his.

“Can’t know unless we ask him. Let’s not assume”, Tango warns as he boops Impulse on the nose, a warning tone in his raspy voice. They’re both worried, he knows, but Impulse is also aware that Tango is right. Jumping to conclusions will help no one.

And yet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for the next chapter, cause be be getting some lore ;>


	5. Pieces of a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question is answered, a memory is tentatively regained, but the whole picture remains unclear for Zedaph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sneakily updates fic tags*  
> :>

“Ughhhh”, Zedaph groans, eloquently, smushing his face against the pillow that Clifford had so very conveniently turned himself into the moment they got back to the Cave of Contraptions, his whole body one with the stone floor next to his furnace, seeing as it was the only thing with any lingering warmth at all in this damned  _ freezing _ place. Clifford nuzzles his cheek and Zedaph sighs, raising his head only slightly, feeling a tug at his ear from where Clifford is nibbling on it in a comforting manner, only to see Clifford giving him the biggest pair of puppy eyes ever and Zedaph can't notice that and not smile just a little bit, trying to rid himself of his thoughts, because, as it stands right now, they're helping no one and they're even making his  _ dog _ sad and he can't have that. Zedaph exhales, slowly and softly, one hand threading itself into the warm fur on Clifford’s scruff.

“You’re gonna be such a big boy, aren’t you, Cliff?”, he asks with a smile and, really, he might just. He’s already quite longer than when Zedaph had found and  _ rescued _ him and his fur is growing thicker. He’s looking more and more like a very happy wolf and it warms Zedaph’s heart. He cuddles his dog for a bit more before, finally, getting up and popping his back. He feels quite weary and worn out, his emotional energy spread a bit thin, his very soul fraying around the edges with how unreasonably tired he feels. It’s not even dark outside yet, Zedaph thinks, glancing at a hole that he’s made in his cave’s roof, which serves as a temporary clock until he can think of a more fitting time-telling contraption, the red of the sky throwing a faded circle of crimson light right on the floor next to his storage pit, and even so, Zedaph is fully aware that he hasn’t felt well rested in a while now. He manages to make his way to his food chest and grabs a piece of dried kelp. He hasn’t been sleeping well, Zedaph contemplates, sitting with his back to his furnace, Clifford instantly curling himself on Zedaph’s lap, he hasn’t been sleeping well and his dreams have been weird, even if he can't quite remember them, and his moonstone started cracking out of nowhere and…

_ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ↸𝙹╎リ⊣ ᓭ𝙹 ⎓ᔑ∷ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ᒲ𝙹𝙹リꖎ╎リ⊣? _

And the dragon’s words, as much as they elude him, still ring around his head and have done so ever since he got back. It’s just been a weird couple of weeks, so weird, in fact, and Zedaph munches on his kelp as the thought occurs to him, that it might just mean  _ something _ . But Zedaph has never prided himself in being all too smart and he just can’t quite put the pieces together, not with his muddled brain and his ever raging and overly emotional heart. He tries not to think about what has his emotions in such a tangled mess, but it’s not as easy as Zedaph would like it to be, especially when deep red and warm brows eyes flash before him in his mind. Zedaph shakes his head.

“Could be a coincidence, huh, Cliff?”, the dog barks happily in response, nosing at his owner’s thigh.

**It’s not, you know it's not** , and Zedaph sighs. He does know that there might be something going on, perhaps even a very elaborate, over-the-top prank of sorts because, if he’s honest with  _ himself _ , he’s never really believed in coincidences, not the ones that form a net, even if it’s one that he can’t quite see but can feel well enough, not the ones that pile up. But it’s fine, it's  _ fine,  _ or it will be, eventually, and though he may not be wise enough or smart enough to solve this puzzle himself, there's someone he knows who  _ just _ might. With a kiss to Clifford’s head, who he’s now laid on top of the furnace, and a plan taking shape in his mind, Zedaph rushes to his chests once more, strapping his armour on as swiftly as he can while the red light of the sunset turns colder and fainter the longer he waits.

In no time at all, he is out the door and, with a map spread out over his knees and his trusty boat under him, Zedaph rows towards where he knows Joe is working on his lighthouse, the setting sun allowing the shadows to finally elongate themselves enough and to plunge the world into darkness.

* * *

“A bee may sometimes present you with polen, but it does not always give you the honey you desperately seek, oh man of worms and caves”, Joe rubs his chin, looking up at the sky, the starlight reflecting itself in small white dots on the lenses of his glasses. He then takes out his notebook and writes something down, scratches it away, writes something else down, hums thoughtfully, scratches that away too, writes something-

Zedaph blinks. His brain feels a bit more mushy than it did before.

“Honey. Yes. Of course”, Zedaph clears his throat and leans into the, for now, quite sandy lighthouse tower, “So no books for learning endish.”

“Is there a book on learning how to breathe? Or a book all about teaching one how to feel?”, Joe says, a small smile forming on his face. Zedaph tilts his head, nodding, but his confusion is clear, even if he thinks he understands what Joe is getting at. Maybe endish cannot be learned like other languages, seeing as it holds literal  _ magic _ in its very structure, maybe he needs to prepare some sort of ritual to better understand it. Before Zedaph can even open his mouth to ask how many candles and what kind of sacrifices he’ll need in order to learn the End’s tongue, Joe cuts him off with a soft question of his own, smile widening just a little bit.

“Are you, perhaps, in need of translating something?”

And Zedaph’s mouth hangs open, just a little bit. 

“You know endish?!”, he asks, bewildered, but his happiness colours his shocked tone more and more with every word he manages to get out. Joe nods and it is a moment of true excitement for Zedaph as he jumps in place just a little bit. He gathers himself with a cough and focused look on his face. He recalls the dragon’s words, repeats them a few times in his head, and then, he speaks:

“∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ↸𝙹╎リ⊣ ᓭ𝙹 ⎓ᔑ∷ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ᒲ𝙹𝙹リꖎ╎リ⊣? That’s-”

Zedaph’s eyes widen, as do Joe’s for a second, before the kindness and crypticness replace the wide-eyed look. He’s pretty sure he’s never even  _ tried _ to speak endish, so the way the words curl on his tongue, the way they taste  _ right _ when he says them, comes as a surprise, and it leaks over into his normal speaking voice, the weird accent of it, as Zedaph takes a moment after the words catch in throat, the transition so sudden from the fluent and almost musical sound of endish to the mundane tone of day-to-day speech.

“That’s what I remember...”

“My, do we have a secret linguist in our midst?”, Joe says and gives the stars another pensive glance before looking down at the breaking waves and allowing the silence to linger for a little bit.

“She called you a lunatic, if I’m understanding correctly”, Joe remarks, sounding just a little bit taken aback. Zedaph frowns.

“A lunatic? Well, that’s rude!”, Zedaph exclaims, hands on his hips, ready to bring the dragon back and have some words! If False, or someone more competent at fighting than he himself is, so anyone else, really, agrees to help him out again, that is.

“She asked what you were doing away from your home”, Joe continues, his face a perfectly blank mask this time around when Zedaph looks at him. He hums and eyes the dark blue of the ocean with a growing hint of worry in his heart,  _ the journey back won’t be too pleasant _ , still confused because, even if the words themselves make sense coming from a magnificent beast such as the ender dragon herself, he still doesn’t understand why she spoke to  _ him _ . Or maybe she hadn’t, Zedaph bites his lip and imitates Joe’s earlier gesture, rubbing his own chin, deep in thought, maybe she had spoken to False. Or to both of them. Zedaph sighs, deciding that it’s time to cut this little adventure short and stop bothering Joe.

Joe doesn’t say anything else, but glances at him every so often as Zedaph prepares his boat for another trip, already hearing the groans and grumbles and rattles and hisses of all of the night’s mobs surrounding them.

“Thank you for everything, Joe!”, he calls as he pushes the boat into the ocean, waving at Joe with a paddle in his hand. Joe waves right back and, after making sure that Zedaph has safely set sail, so to speak, he heads inside his lighthouse.

In a way, though he’s found the answer to one question, now he’s left to ponder a few more instead. Nothing lost, nothing really gained, when it comes down to it, Zedaph thinks, yawning widely, but he does  _ feel  _ a little better knowing what  _ exactly _ had been said to him. Maybe he’s just such a loveable person that he can make even the ender dragon want to speak with him!

The thought is supposed to be happy, humorous, but he is eyeing the dark sky warily, his body just a bit too tense.

* * *

He’s always admired the sea, its endless blue that hid all matter of chaos just beneath its surface, its waves, crashing against one another in white splashes of foam, its sounds, its smells, Zedaph’s always found them soothing. Whenever they were waiting between worlds, he always liked walking along the beach, collecting seashells and looking at the horizon, as if, somehow, if he looked hard enough, the mist that seemed so out of reach and yet almost tangible would reveal the secrets it kept hidden just out of view. But he never lingered.

Zedaph has never built a primary base out at sea, and, even when they traveled to a world that showcased a whole new way to experience the ocean’s might, he stuck to switching bases and avoiding the ones that were built underwater as much as he possibly could. Zedaph sometimes thinks about Impulse’s base when he boats by, looks at the support pillars and walls that reach the seafloor in awe and he cannot  _ fathom _ how Impulse can stand it there, because…

Zedaph might like the sea in the light of the day, he can admire it, even when the colours of dawn and dusk bleed into the water’s mirror, he finds the sight beautiful, but he cannot help but be  _ terrified _ when night comes.

Something about darkness falling upon a usually brilliant reflection of the sky that only ever shifts with the currents and the winds that hold an eerie chill, even in warmer biomes, something about the stillness of everything he  _ can _ see, something about how the moon’s own reflected twin, a broken circle of white light scattered in the ever-twisting pool of shadows,  _ glares  _ at him, it  _ unnerves _ Zedaph, but not in the way a nightmare or a sudden mob attack would, no, it just feels  _ foreboding _ in the same way visiting the latest spot that he’d died in does.    
And so, with as much speed as he can muster, Zedaph rows back to his mountain home.

However, when he finally reaches the sand, jumps onto the bank and leans down to pull the boat ashore, suddenly, there’s a sharp pain that pulses from the middle of his chest and spreads throughout his body like ink seeping into wet paper. Zedaph gasps and reaches out with one hand for the sore area on his side, hissing slightly as the action makes the pain even worse. He looks around the desert, wincing in the surrounding darkness, trying to make out the shapes of the mobs that he’s come to expect, but he is completely alone and, for some reason, that scares Zedaph, makes the feeling of  _ wrong _ increase. Is he missing something? Maybe the mobs just haven’t had time to spawn yet, so he might as well count his blessings and hurry inside now, Zedaph thinks, brushing the dust off of his pants and looking up at the sky. The moon shines high above the dark yellow sand, white and cold and  _ lonely _ .

Lonely? Where had that come from? Zedaph shakes his head, huffing out a breath. He can contemplate his own thoughts from the safety of his cave, he decides and runs towards his mountain, feet digging into the sand and kicking dust behind him as he finally _ , finally _ gets his body to move. But his brain, on the other hand, it keeps rolling these thoughts around that, were Zedaph a person like Joe, he’d think they were just the remnants of some poetic ideas, but Zedaph isn’t and Zedaph doesn’t like what his own mind is echoing back to him.

**Alone, but always watching** , Zedaph thinks and that thought isn’t pleasant, it serves only to accentuate the wrongness that he’s been feeling ever since he pulled up on the coast, but he’s only a few feet away from his door, just a second or two more and he’s home, he’s safe, he-

Zedaph stumbles as a sudden wave of dizziness hits him. His heart is beating erratically inside his chest like a bird trapped in a cage too small to fit its wings as it tries to fly off, blood thrumming in his ears and, suddenly, he has to stop. Zedaph takes a slow, shaky breath in and it whooshes past his lips like a soft whistle when he tries to exhale without making the pain in his chest worse. His muscles are twitching ever so slightly as he tries to put one foot in front of the other, as his fingers reach for the button of his door, as he turns his back to the desert. And that’s when it strikes him, out of nowhere, the pain disappearing just as suddenly as it had appeared, his surroundings fading before his very eyes, leaving only empty darkness behind, which then  _ shifts.  _ A memory, a conversation that Zedaph knows he’s heard before, but one that he has no place for in his own recollections, one he doesn’t know the context of, materialises before him.

_ “You have grown distant”, her soft voice said and, despite how gentle it sounded at first and how low the words were hummed, the edge that was hidden just beneath the silken tone was evident. _

_ “Has your ice finally blinded you?”, he avoided answering the unspoken question, knowing that he never could lie to her, and he looked at his own reflection, only to see a silhouette of himself in the misty surface. She scoffed and he could feel it in the way the world shook around him. Everything grew just a little colder and the ice beneath his feet hardened. _

_ “Don’t be foolish”, she finally sighed and he felt the weight of her hand hovering over him, casting a shadow that obscured what little he could see behind the crystalised barrier, but not touching. He’d be one with the ice if she did, and they both knew it. _

_ So instead, he looked up at the stars on the ceiling and blinked at her, a tired smile curling on his lips. _

_ “I’m here, aren’t I?” _

_ A series of vibrations that he thought might have been laughter echoed all around him. _

_ “My little fool.” _

_ It was an endearment, meant to assure and comfort and  _ keep _ , but it made the longing in his gut worsen and the need to  _ leave _ even stronger. _

Zedaph blinks once and then, when that doesn’t seem to make the whole thing any clearer, he blinks again, his entire body covered with goosebumps. In his mind’s eye, he can still see a frosted over lake, but the words ring in his head and Zedaph is trying his best to hold on to them, to give them some sort of meaning, but he doesn’t recognise the place and he doesn’t recognise the voices and he doesn’t recognise the  _ memory _ , because that’s what it feels like, it has the melancholic twinge of regret that he knows he’s always associated with a past he can’t see clearly. But all of it is fading. The image of the lake and the stars becomes less clear until all it leaves behind is a vision of the starlight bouncing off of the sea’s surface and the words spoken, though he tries to commit them to memory, are gone too quickly and Zedaph is left grasping at the seams of something that’s been ripped right out of his hands. There is one thing that remains, however, Zedaph thinks desperately, as he presses the button and slowly steps inside, feeling detached from his own body, in a way, as, without him even thinking about it, he just finds himself heading for his bed, his mind still processing  _ everything _ , and it is the feeling of being watched by something,  _ someone _ he cannot see.

Zedaph shakes himself, fingers twitching and his whole body is all but ready to collapse in on itself. Had that just been some sort imaginative outburst? A half remembered dream? An  _ actual _ memory? Zedaph doesn’t know, but as he sinks into the bed, still fully clothed, and yet shivering, as he wraps himself in his blanket, as Clifford bounces over and soundlessly flops on top of Zedaph, his fur acting as yet another layer against the chill, as the pain in his chest throbs slightly, barely there at this point, allowing Zedaph to tune it out for the moment, he doesn’t think he has the mental capacity to really figure out what  _ that _ had been.

**Nothing important, forget it** , he comforts himself and then, finally, sleep envelops him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I technically have a buffer of chapters?  
> Yes.  
> Do I still want to spread them out to not overwhelm myself?  
> Also yes.  
> Am I hella excited about what's to come?  
>  _You bet!_


	6. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line between the waking world and everything else gets ever thinner, to Tango's befuddlement and to Impulse's worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't post as often I should, even if I have a buffer! I just have to reread each chapter a few times before posting to make sure it works well pacing and foreshadowing-wise!

_ The ice was cracking against his skin, spreading over him, covering him completely, to the point where all he knew was the cold seeping into his very bones, into his heart, if he even had one still. And yet, the screaming shook the world around him. He would have curled in on himself, but he could not move, he could not speak, he could not see, he could not cry and he could not  _ leave _. _

_ “I warned you”, her voice permeated the ice and, when it started to break off, crimson tainted the glistening white, along with specks of gold, “But you decided to be stubborn.” _

_ As soon as the frost released his lips, despite his better judgement, he yelled, he yelled and the very walls shook with his own rage. _ _   
_ **_“I decided to be free.”_ **

Zedaph wakes up with tears streaming down his face and two familiar faces above over him.

* * *

Tango had never been one to worry about people unnecessarily, he’s always been of the opinion that helping them when they didn’t ask would come of as patronising, that to ask for help is to show a certain level of trust and that, yes, sometimes, an intervention was needed because some people were simply too shy or too caught up in their own problems to look around and realise that there are people who care about them and wouldn’t even blink before agreeing to help, whatever the task may be. That being said, Impulse plays his own life after a whole different scenario.

In Tango’s utmost objective and professional opinion, one that he’s formed over the years, even before he and Impulse had started dating, one that’s been cemented by seeing the man comfort anyone who’s shown even the slightest hint of feeling a bit down, by  _ being _ comforted by that same man whenever he was bummed out by their redstone failing them at critical points, by knowing just how deeply Impulse cares about others and how warm his embrace is and by always  _ hearing  _ the smile in his voice even when he’s tired or hurt, Impulse is not only a mother hen, but one of the kindest people he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Doesn’t hurt that he’s absolutely gorgeous, either, with a dimple on one side of his smile, chocolate brown eyes, a lythe but strong form and-

Where was he, again?

Oh, yes. Caring for people when they need help but claim they do not.

Well, here’s the thing, there’s this one friend of theirs that they’ve known for quite some time now, that is notorious for his fair share of bad decisions, this one person that apparently runs on silliness alone, this person that he and Impulse, well, that they…

_ Here’s the thing _ , despite their crush on him, despite the longing and the heartache, despite everything, he is their friend and there’s very few things, bordering on none, really, that they wouldn’t do for him, but Zedaph has been on their minds lately, Tango knows because they’ve discussed it, mostly because he is Impulse’s worried rant partner whenever he needs an ear, and not in the way he usually is, they  _ do _ think of him quite often, but, this time, Tango is starting to feel a bit too concerned, which is why, at this particular moment, Tango is flying above the desert between his and Zedaph’s base, not being all to conservative with his rockets, firstly because something doesn’t sit right with him about how Zedaph’s been acting, and secondly because he has a steady supply of both sugarcane and gunpowder. The sky around him is a dull grey, quite a few heavy clouds having managed to roll around during the night now littering what would, at this time of day, be a canvas splashed with bright oranges and deep reds. Tango doesn’t linger on that too much and, soon enough, his feet land in front of Zedaph’s mountain base, the metal door sturdy and almost dark in the fuzzy morning light. Tango looks at the door, puts his rockets away and loosens the straps on his elytra, running a hand through his hair to make sure the line between messy and windswept is toed just so. That done, he knocks on the iron frame, listening to the sound echoing inside for a few seconds. When nothing happens, Tango frowns and knocks once more. No answer.

The frown on his face deepens just a little bit more and Tango tries to squish his face between the grates of the metal door’s little window in order to get a look inside, but that doesn’t yield anything useful, he can’t see anything other than the stone wall on the other side of the cave, so Tango decides maybe another approach is needed.

“Hey, Zed! You there, buddy?”, he yells through the grates and, once more, waits for an answer, but nothing comes of it. Tango just sighs and shrugs to himself. Zedaph must have had some errands to run and left early, or maybe he's really sleeping in and is too tired for anything short of a storm to wake him up, Tango thinks, shaking his head, but then, and it surprises Tango a little bit, he has to admit, he hears barking. Tango raises a brow as the sound gets closer. 

“Hey, Cliff. Zed left you on your own, huh?”, he asks, tilting his face down to where he imagines the dog to be, the barking now indicating that Clifford is just behind the door. But something doesn’t sound quite right…

Tango pouts as the barking keeps going, and it sounds  _ distressed _ , for some reason, which worries Tango enough into deciding that, seeing as Zedaph’s never minded an unexpected visit before, he surely won’t mind now, even if he’s not home. Tango thinks he might as well just come in and make sure Clifford is fine. And so, Tango reaches out and presses the button over the door, squaring his shoulders as the hinges creak ever so slightly and the door swings open. No sooner had Tango opened the door, a blur of white circles him, only to end up cowering behind his legs, trembling and whining, Clifford’s wet fur dripping on his boots as the poor thing noses at his laces.  _ Wet fur… Is this the doing of the magic puddle he talked about _ , Tango asks himself, but then his eyes shift to the inside of Zedaph’s cave and, subsequently, to the floor of it, and they widen as  _ water _ floods out, seeping into the sand almost instantly.There’s not a lot of it, just a thin layer, but it covers the floor of the  _ whole _ cave, and it’s been expanded since last time he saw it, which indicates that something  _ must _ have happened to flood the whole place..

“What the...”, he murmurs, but then Clifford barks from where he’s hidden behind Tango and he sounds almost pained. Without another moment of hesitation, Tango runs inside, mouth set in a hard line and brows drawn as he scans the inside of the cave, his boots sloshing around the thin water layer that, now that the front door has opened, is slowly draining out. He heads for where he knows Zedaph’s chests and sleeping quarters had last been, feet kicking at the still slick stoney surface, but as soon as he gets there, instead of being greeted by an empty bed, maybe still messy and maybe with some sheets that had managed to reach the floor a little soaked, instead of having to worry about the chests not handling the water well, or the mess of torches having been pushed out and into the corners,  _ instead _ , Tango sees the, as expected, messy bed, but it is  _ entirely _ water-logged and there’s a human sized lump lying in it amongst the mess of blankets. Tango draws in a sharp breath and, before he’s even had time to ask why the bed is so wet, water literally trickling from the mattress and onto the floor, as though entire buckets had been dumped on it, which is quite confusing, especially seeing as the water level had been so low, not nearly high enough to reach the bed, or how the bed’s occupant hadn’t noticed  _ anything _ wrong and gotten up yet, he’s looking down at the tangle of fabric and pillows and clothes, underneath which he can spot a mop of light blonde hair. Soon, he is attempting to shake Zedaph awake, frantically whispering his name, but it doesn’t seem to work.

“Zed- C’mon, Zedaph, the whole place is flooded, wake up!”, and he has both hands on where he presumes Zedaph’s shoulders are, but despite almost pushing him out of bed with the force of his movements, Zedaph doesn’t stir. Worry pulls at Tango and his stomach is all in knots as he pulls the covers away only to reveal a very pale and very  _ still _ Zedaph, his skin looking almost translucent, a blue tint to his extremities, and he is soaked to the bone, his cardigan clinging to his soft body and his hair glued onto the side of his ashen face. Tango gulps and tries his best to think logically, but he is panicking. He doesn’t know how any of this could have happened and he’s never been good with any sort of medical stuff and, all of a sudden, he’s so damn  _ scared _ that it’s making his head spin.

And so he does the one thing that seems safest. His red eyes still fixed onto Zedaph’s still form, a cry of relief being almost ripped from him as he notices the subtle movements of Zedaph’s breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly, Tango gets out his communicator, calls Impulse and gets about two words in before his boyfriend hangs up and Tango  _ just _ about catches the sound of swishing, a chest being slammed shut and firework rockets being launched.

“ _ Zed’s hurt. _ ”

Tango exhales and does his best to gather himself, extending a hand towards Zedaph, resting his finger on his forehead, almost jumping at how  _ cold _ his skin feels. he turns his hand and cups a soft, chilled cheek instead. Zedaph doesn’t react.

It takes Impulse about two minutes to ram through the metal front door, almost slipping on the still somewhat wet stone floor and the rush of relief at seeing him is almost enough to drown out Tango’s worry. Almost.

Their eyes lock together, brown meeting red, and Tango takes his hand away from Zedaph’s skin, biting his lip as Impulse tries to manage both walking and looking around wildly, trying to understand what had happened at the same time.

“Tango, what’s going on?”, Impulse asks, the worry in his tone mirroring the concern in his eyes as he finally takes notice Zedaph’s still form. Tango looks around one more time, maybe hoping to find the leakage that caused it, but he doesn’t  _ see _ anything out of the ordinary. Clifford is sitting in the doorway with his head on his paws, having shaken most of the water off and, from outside the cave, Tango can hear the faint crackle of thunder. A storm must have started.

“I don’t know. I wanted to come check on him and just...”, Tango inhales shakily and tangles his own hands in his hair in something akin to frustration over his own inability to do something, tainted with deep worry about the whole situation.

Impulse checks Zedaph's temperature and his eyebrows crease together. He reaches for Zedaph’s hand and squeezes it. Tango looks on, worrying his lip between his teeth, red gaze switching between Impulse’s worried face and Zedaph’s absent and too-still-for-Tango’s-liking features.   
“What do we do?”, he asks, hands toying with the hem of his vest as the silence grows ever tenser. And then, finally, Impulse sighs and shakes his head.

“Get him out of this bed, we have to warm him up and get some dry clothes on him.”

His voice sounds almost hesitant, low and tinged with the worry that Tango’s become accustomed to and, and, before Tango can pin him with a questioning look, Impulse looks at him, smiles, and sets about unpacking a shulker box Tango hadn’t even seen him pull out of his pack. Tango shakes his head with a small sigh and, while Impulse gently puts down a couple of potions of healing and some wood, looking at the furnace contraption further away in the cave with a confused expression, Tango picks Zedaph up, one hand supporting his knees, the other his back, and Tango  _ shivers _ because he feels so damn cold, even through his clothes. Zedaph’s head flops against Tango's chest, blonde strands sticking to bluish cheeks and soft breaths passing through slightly parted lips. Impulse gestures him over, having moved in front of the furnace, bamboo laying at his feet and the odd furnace contraption lit up, and Tango heads towards him, trying to jostle Zedaph as little as he possibly can and, somehow, just as he stops in front of Impulse, he notices that Zedaph’s mouth is moving.

It’s such a small motion, it’s almost not there at all and Tango doesn’t think he would have noticed it, but Zedaph is murmuring something and his cold breath is hitting his neck, which is a bit harder to miss. Impulse frowns.

“Something wrong? Er, wrong- _ er _ ?”, he asks, pointing at the floor, where he’s laid out some bits of wool that were probably leftovers from their work-in-progress sheep farm, especially given the amalgam of colours, and Tango doesn’t hesitate, he settles onto the softened floor, Zedaph still cradled in his arms.

“He’s talking in his sleep”, Tango says and watches Impulse as he goes to rummage through Zedaph’s chests, probably looking for dry clothes, Tango muses. He glances down at Zedaph only to see just the slightest crease between his brows, the muttering having turned to very faint whimpering that Tango can only hear because of their proximity.

“I think he’s not having a very good dream, though...”

Impulse is next to him, suddenly, a bundle of clothes held in his arms, his thoughtful, worried face looking down at Zedaph, his warm, brown eyes then moving to Tango’s.

“It would seem so… Try waking him up again? I wouldn’t want to invade his privacy”, Impulse confesses with a sigh, laying the pile of clothes in front of them and throwing another piece of wood into the furnace. He joins Tango on the wool and, even if it’s only been a few seconds since Tango himself had sat down in front of the furnace, Zedaph already feels a little warmer, so his confidence in actually getting Zedaph to wake up increases, if only a little. Impulse leans into Tango’s shoulder and nuzzles his neck, another sigh being muffled by Tango’s own skin. Tango smiles at this, his heart skipping a beat, and, as gently as he can possibly manage, he brushes his fingertips down Zedaph’s cheek, sliding a stray bit of his fringe behind his ear and then just as softly, Tango taps on his shoulder. Impulse has taken ahold of Zedaph’s hand already and, were the context different, this little moment would be  _ perfect _ , but, as it stands, both Impulse and Tango just want Zedaph to wake up.

_ He does.  _ **_Twice_ ** .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has multiple POVs but we'll only ever get someone other than Zed's perspective when absolutely necessary, i.e. when he's not awake to tell us what happens.  
> This is sort of an in-between chapter, as is the next one, but it does the job I need handled :>  
> Also, cuddle rights 👉👉


	7. Gray Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph convinces himself that he would tell them, would he himself know what is going on, but it seems that he's developed a propensity for lies as of late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I did the proofreading! Are y'all proud of me? :>

Zedaph’s eyes flash open so suddenly that Impulse nearly jumps out of his skin, as though Zedaph hadn’t been unconscious _seconds_ ago, as though he was awake and just waiting, as weird as that sounds, and it seems a bit _wrong_ , but he is entirely blindsided by the fact that Zedaph is actually _awake_ , which is why Impulse doesn’t focus on that and instead lays a hand on Zedaph’s cold shoulder as he blinks a few more times. Tango is grinning and Impulse can see the way his hold tightens just a little bit. Impulse smiles, too.

“Zed!”, Tango sounds like and over excited child and it makes the smile on Impulse’s face widen, “Finally up, sleepyhead?”

Zedaph doesn’t move and he doesn’t react. Impulse can tell something isn’t quite right now and his smile falters in favour of a frown that marrs his features.

“Zedaph?”, Impulse asks, tentatively raising a hand to Zedaph’s forehead. Perhaps the cold had really gotten to him, and if that’s the case, then they need to-

Purple eyes focus on him, all of a sudden, and Impulse feels a chill run down his spine, as though he had been the one dosed in cold water. Impulse narrows his eyes and a crease begins forming between his brows as his worry grows, but Zedaph just keeps staring at him. Tango looks to him with a questioning look and, gods, he wishes he could provide an answer, but he is just as confused as Tango appears, brows furrowed and an open expression of something akin to shock on his face.

He looks at Zedaph more closely and tries to take a note of everything wrong with his friend right now. He’s too pale, for one, with his lips a purpling blue, and his attire is thoroughly soaked. He had seemed unfocused at first when he came to, but now he is _eerily_ focused on watching Impulse and, for a second, and Impulse rubs at his eyes just in case his eyes are playing tricks on him, he thinks he sees yellowish bits of colour in the purple of his irises. Now, Impulse might not necessarily be proud of it, but he has quite a clear image in his mind of how Zedaph’s eyes actually look, has spent enough time getting lost in them to _remember_ them, and he’s never seen any golden flakes of colour amongst the amethyst violet. The feeling of wrongness only increases.

“Zed, what’s wrong?”, Impulse asks, and he exchanges a quick look with Tango, but his boyfriend seems just as lost as he is, before returning his attention to their weirdly quiet friend. Now, Impulse might expect Zedaph to say something, to react in any way, shape or form, to do _something_ , hell, Impulse would even expect him to continue staring at him with sharp, emotionless eyes, but instead, Zedaph does something he hadn’t expected.

He pushes himself out of Tango’s arms with a hiss and jumps to his feet, body hunched over in a defensive pose. Tango is left frozen with his hands still where they had been holding onto Zedaph, but Impulse gets up as well, arms raised, approaching Zedaph slowly, in a as-non-threatening way as he can manage, and he watches as Zedaph’s eyes move between him and Tango before a glare twists his features into something Impulse has _never_ seen before. 

And then Zedaph speaks, fists curling and uncurling by his sides, and he looks ready to strike.

 _“ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᒷ⍊ᒷᓭ!”_ , he hisses and the word echoes around the cave, bouncing off of the walls and reverberating around them.

Impulse’s blood runs cold. 

Since when can Zedaph speak _endish_?

Tango finally reacts as well, and it is just in time, too, because as soon as he says this, Zedaph collapses, just a stringless puppet crumpling onto the stone floor with no strings and no hands keeping him up anymore. Both he and Tango manage to reach him just in time and Impulse makes sure to rest a hand between the stone and Zedaph’s skull, whilst Tango holds onto his shoulders, trying to keep Zedaph somewhat upright, though he is leaning heavily to one side.

“What the hell”, Impulse hears Tango murmur as his hands shake where they are holding Zedaph, and again, for good measure, “ **What the hell, Impulse.** ”

Impulse shakes his head and looks down at Zedaph. Instead of the blank face from before or the loose expression of someone unconscious, his face is twisting up, chin trembling and eyes squeezing shut. It is almost unnoticeable at first and Impulse, focused as he is on checking his temperature because, all at once, Zedaph begins sweating and his face seems too hot and clammy, his breathing picking up all too suddenly, doesn’t notice it, _but Tango does_.

“He’s talking! I… I think he’s still dreaming”, Tango blurts out, almost silent with shock.

And then, for the second time since they had gotten here, Zedaph’s eyes open wide and he gasps, shooting up, his whole body tense.

His eyes are the same old purple Impulse knows and loves and that thought is both reassuring and _terrifying_.

* * *

Zedaph awakes with a start, chilled to his bones, but with skin that feels to hot on him, boiling water thrown onto ice too thin to not immediately give, **get it off,** **_get it off_ ** , and he feels his gut churning uncomfortably, making him feel too weak to even move and, for an awfully long minute _, he can’t_ . His vision is blurred and the sounds around him register as though he were underwater, and he knows that’s not it, but with his vision and hearing impaired, he can feel the wet clothes sticking to him even better and Zedaph is so _cold_ , almost as though he were covered in ice and snow, despite the heat on the surface. It's a jarring sensation.

Whoever is with him, and Zedaph can feel their hands holding him, _but he still can’t move_ , one at his nape and another one beneath his shoulders, keeps calling out to him, he presumes, but Zedaph can’t get his body to cooperate, is trapped in his own mind.

For a second, he doesn’t understand what he is feeling, doesn’t recognise the hummingbird-fast beat of his heart, doesn’t recognise the feeling of falling into nothingness without anything actually happening to his physical form, doesn’t recognise the static that his mind is buzzing with, but as his breathing _finally_ begins slowing down, not much, but just enough to allow Zedaph to _think_ , it registers. He’s woken up paralyzed and numb before, on one of his first nights spent in the Cave of Contraptions, but he had _never_ felt like this before, or at least, he can’t recall it, because, for some reason, this feels _familiar,_ this... This fear, all consuming and dark, swirling against his thoughts like the currents of the sea pulling him down and taking hold of his body, and Zedaph gasps.

He tries to struggle against the people around him, and he understands that there’s at least two of them, because another hand settles against his face, against his forehead, and, slowly, Zedaph regains some control of his limbs. His fingers twitch and his visions clears just enough to make out two blobs in front of him, one suspiciously yellow. 

_Uh-oh_.

“-aph! Zed, can you hear me?”, and Zedaph can hear the words, now. He can’t quite put their meanings together to process them and think up a response for them, but he can _hear_ Impulse’s voice.

He tries to nod, but it comes out like a particularly hard bout of shivering.

“I-I c-ca-can’t...M-move”, he stutters out, the effort of saying this much making him feel even dizzier than before, and Impulse quiets down and the loss of his voice does something to Zedaph, because his shivers start picking up as feeling returns to his arms and legs, and he really, really just wants to hear Impulse or Tango’s voice, he needs something to ground him, he-

Two pairs of arms wrap around him and, though a part of his brain that screams that he must, as soon as the possibility arises, throw himself into the nearest lake, _he’s too hot on the outside and still freezing on the inside, this doesn’t feel good_ , but they feel warm not in a painful way, but rather the arms around him feel comforting, and the cold that seems to have reached the darkest corner of him begins thawing.

Zedaph is still shivering, minutes later, when he can feel and move most of his body parts, although his toes are suspiciously unresponsive, but he doesn’t say anything, not yet.

All three of them are kneeling next to a pile of carefully placed wool and Zedaph would make a joke about the impracticality of the cave affecting his friends as well, seeing as they could be huddling there instead of on the cold stone, but he doesn’t trust his voice yet. Tango is holding him to his chest and rubbing his arms in an effort to warm him up, and Zedaph winces as he realises that, because of how he is holding him, Tango’s own clothes must have gotten soaked as well, and Impulse has his arms wrapped around both of them, his forehead resting against Zedaph’s shoulders. This does raise the question of why Zedaph himself is dripping with water that he, for the most part, doesn't remember accidentally falling into, and why both of them are here. It doesn't change the way the latter fact makes him even more hesitant to speak, fearing that any words would seem too squeaked out for his own self esteem to handle. He tries anyway.

“I...”, Zedaph sucks in a breath at how scratchy and high-pitched his voice sounds, so he clears his throat and starts over again, “I’m sorry...”

He is still a lot more quiet than he usually would be and he doesn’t think he can speak any louder if he tried, but there’s a certain amount of pride that surges inside his chest because of the fact that he didn’t stutter with _this_ sentence. Not that much, at least.

“Hey now”, it is Tango who speaks first and his usually boysterous words, loud and always on the verge of a chuckle, seem uncharacteristically mild, “You’re fine. You probably had some sort of nightmare, yeah?”

And Zedaphs nods and exhales, slowly, deliberately. He tries to remember how he could have gotten this badly soaked and how Impulse and Tango ended up here, _again_ , but his mind falls short on a reply. 

“Are you feeling any better?”, Impulse asks next and he sounds so gentle and so concerned that it almost breaks Zedaph’s heart.

But Zedaph doesn’t allow it to break fully and, just like that, he removes himself from his friends’ embrace, who look at him with confusion etched across their faces, but Zedaph, shaky as he still is, just puts his hands on his hips and attempts a laugh. It comes out more like a pained sob. He still can’t quite feel his toes and his whole body is, according to his own derailed senses, both on the verge of heatstroke and on the verge of frostbite, so he’s not that surprised.

“Totally!”, and to prove his fabricated point, Zedaph twirls around and smiles uncomfortably wide to hide how nauseous that makes him feel. Tango squints at him and Impulse shakes his head.

“Never felt better?”, Zedaph offers as a reply to his own comment in the ensuing silence and it sounds more like a question, but Zedaph will take it.

“Zed, Tango found you soaked to the bone and passed out in a partially flooded base”, Impulse explains and he sounds tired. Zedaph looks around. There’s no water on the floor, but the stone seems damp, its grey slightly darker than what Zedaph remembers. Tango huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What happened, dude?”, he demands, only to get a light nudge in the ribs, courtesy of Impulse. Zedaph looks at the wool pile once more in an effort to keep his eyes on anything other than the people before him. Their concern makes his heart hurt, and he already has a headache, which is more than Zedaph can handle already.

“... Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea?”, Zedaph's replies to Tango’s question with another almost-question as he bends down to pick up some of the wool. He runs towards his storage hole as fast as he can without causing himself too much whiplash and Impulse and Tango, always the gentlemen, turn away as he begins unbuttoning his wet cardigan, even if he is quite hidden from view as he is. Zedaph tries to get changed as quickly as he can, but the movement is getting to him. He just wants to lay back down and not move a finger for the foreseeable future, despite how unrealistic and borderline boring that sounds.

“Zed, I think you might need some medical care”, Impulse confesses and Zedaph can almost hear the sigh in his voice.

“Wha-”, he pulls a fluffy brown sweater that imitates the pattern of his oh so very well-known cardigan with a row fake buttons stitched under the collar, “What do you mean? I’m _fine._ ”

As he says that, an image of bloodied ice shards and a booming voice replay in his head. He holds on to the memory of his dream and, to Zedaph’s shock, it doesn’t immediately fade away, never to be remembered again. 

**That's new** , he thinks.

“I think you have a fever”, Impulse says simply and Zedaph scoffs. Soon, he has a fresh pair of trousers on and a single sock on one of his feet. He’ll find the other sock later, right now, however, he must assure his friends that everything is okay, because it is! It really is!

...Right?

And he tells them that much, but at this point, Zedaph isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince them or _himself_ that everything is alright. 

“I’m- It’s fine, Impy!”

And so, instead of actually trying to address the issue, he begins walking towards the door, where the sound of scratching, which Zedaph only now notices, becomes more intense as he approaches and Zedaph realises it sounds like claws on metal, like _Clifford_ . With a bit of guilt over not telling them the _full_ truth, Zedaph slams the door wide open and almost topples over as a mass of white fur tackles him.

He can hear shuffling behind him as he wraps his arms around Clifford, and he feels happy, he does, but he can’t quite bring himself to smile.

Gods, Zedaph feels _exhausted_.

Clifford, who would usually start slobbering all over his face with his very affectionate and very wet kisses and wouldn’t sit still without at least wagging his tail so hard that he causes bruises, is silent in Zedaph’s embrace. Zedaph sighs and one of his hands threads itself in the wolf’s coat, just at the scruff of his neck, rubbing at the skin underneath with his fingers and burying his face in all of the white fluff, eyes closed and the world around him detached in that small moment. 

Zedaph almost wishes he could just stay liked this, but then a pair of hands place themselves on his shoulders and if Zedaph hadn’t been aware that it was just Impulse and Tango in the cave with him, he would have jumped. As it is, he just hides a flinch in the fur that now serves as Zedaph’s personal barrier between himself and the outside world and Clifford noses at his cheek, probably sensing the small movement.

“Zed, I know something’s not right”, it’s Tango’s voice and he doesn’t sound happy and he doesn’t sound angry, at least not overwhelmingly so, either, but rather, he sounds infuriatingly worried. Zedaph doesn’t like it when he makes his friends worry and he pushes his face away from Clifford, only to meet red eyes over his shoulder, so warm and with a little spark of mischief in them that is now subdued into something like… Something almost affectionate. Zedaph gulps, but shakes his head.

“You can talk to us, whatever it is, and we’ll help you figure it out”,Impulse chimes in next, voice unbearably kind, and the urge to just spill becomes greater, but something deep inside his mind urges him to keep quiet and Zedaph isn’t sure what it is, but he thinks it might be a combination of his own fear, _because this whole thing has gotten out of hand, assuming it’s not just a coincidence_ , and his hesitation to be the one to upset his friends. Silence settles around them and Zedaph knows that they are waiting for an answer, and still, he can’t bring himself to say anything, his own mind too focused on itself, his thoughts too sharp to explain just yet, but when Zedaph _does_ finally manage to set himself straight enough to actually string together a sentence, he is almost glad that he is not lying this time.

“ _Not now_ ”, Zedaph whispers and he slowly lowers Clifford to the ground, who instantly curls around his legs. One of the hands squeezes his shoulder and Zedaph would like to smile, to show the amount of pure _relief_ at the fact that they’re not forcing the issue, but he can’t. _Not right now_. 

“Would you like meet up later and talk?”, Impulse asks and, after a glance behind him, Zedaph notes that Tango tenses up, almost as if he is very much against that idea of leaving, but Impulse sends him one of his _looks_ , the one that leaves no room for argument. Usually, Tango backtalks anyways, but, for now, he keeps whatever he wants to say to himself and just sighs. Then they are both looking at Zedaph expectantly and Zedaph feels heat rise up to his cheeks. He opens his mouth but he is almost sure his voice will fail him, and not just because of how weak he feels, so Zedaph closes it back again and nods instead. The two wrap him in a tight embrace, almost unexpectedly, and Zedaph feels like he can’t _breathe_ with how hard he’s trying to not just _melt_ into the touch. 

**It feels nice...**

The hug doesn’t last as long as Zedaph would have liked, but he assures himself that he should be glad he got anything at all, because soon enough, after they’ve bid their goodbyes, Zedaph is left standing in the middle of his own cave, still humid for now, alone with the exception of Clifford who is still trying to make his owner happy by rubbing his head against his feet. Zedaph lowers himself to the floor and, with a shaky sigh, one that seems to steal all of his remaining energy, he hugs this blessing of a pet that life had deemed him worthy enough to stumble upon to his chest, just for a second. 

Zedaph thinks it might be time to play some connect-the-dots, but for now, too afraid to sleep and too weary to think about anything more complex than what a good boy Clifford is, the idea of figuring out _what_ flooded his base nearly daunting, he just crumbles to the stone floor, arms propped on his knees and Clifford with his head in Zedaph’s lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Base: *gets flooded*  
> Zed: I pretend I do not see.


	8. Growing Tensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's with a sudden change that Zedaph realises, maybe ignoring his issues isn't the best thing to do, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot new chapter, taken out of the refrigerator and thrown into a microwave just for you B)  
> In other news, Zed is a silly silly man.

When Beef finds him, Zedaph is knee-deep in a puddle of water, well and truly testing how long his breath can last him as he plunges his head beneath the water’s surface, hands doing quick work of the circuits, trying to keep them as dry as possible whilst also getting the timings right. This Magic Puddle of his is nothing if not a distraction, and Zedaph is fully aware of that fact, but he isn't sure he wants to think about much right now. He’d managed to fall asleep that morning again, after Tango and Impulse had left and, shockingly,  _ thankfully _ , he hadn’t experienced any more weird dreams, just a bit of restless slumber. And then, for three days straight, he had remained inside his cave, actually sketching up the concept for his Magic Puddle contraption, not daring to do what he needed to do, not daring to seek out a certain leader, not daring to open a certain chest, not daring to get any of the dots connected again, for fear of… Something. Zedaph isn’t sure why, but it almost feels like his own thoughts are trying to hold him back for a little, telling him that this whole thing isn't something he wants to know more about. It may just be something he ends up  _ needing _ to know, but that, Zedaph will have to worry about after he finishes his current project. Whatever he had told himself about trying to figure this whole mess of events and oddities out earlier, Zedaph now realises it had been mostly just brave words with no backing. He just doesn’t have it in him, not right now. And so,  _ when Beef finds him _ , Zedaph’s brain instantly decides that he could use more than one way to procrastinate, which leads to a conversation.

"Well, I haven’t seen you in a hot minute, Zedaph”, Beef says as he claps Zedaph on the back, which makes Zedaph stop and think for a moment because he can barely feel the touch, and this has been worrying him, this ever increasing  _ numbness _ , and he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t let it show.

“Yeah, inspiration been rampant lately, you know?”, and he laughs, pointing at some of his little builds, actual pride filling his voice for a change. He  _ is _ proud of what he’s made, but that doesn’t change the fact that he should, maybe, just maybe, not isolate himself from the others when things have reached this level of oddness, but Beef looks at him and smiles, looking actually impressed.

“Bet you didn’t have much time for resource gathering then, the place looks amazing!”, Beef says as he walks around the cave, stopping at the Undead Plinko contraption. Zedaph pats the glass and a zombie chooses that exact moment to fall down the chute and into the machine. Zedaph jumps back with a startled laugh, heart beating loudly, much too loudly for a simple scare, but Beef also laughs, and Zedaph realises that he’s missed this, just hearing someone laugh. Or, maybe, having a friend nearby.

“No, I guess not”, Zedaph says and Beef looks around the cave once more before his eyes light up and he reaches inside his apron, only to pull out a bit of gunpowder.

“Well, what if I told you of a  _ new _ way to gather diamonds?”, he asks and throws the little bag filled with explosive dust Zedaph’s way, who catches it with cold fingers, but nevermind  _ that, _ his brain is simply  _ fizzling _ with ideas right now.

All worries pushed onto the backburner and with wide grins on both of their faces, they make their way down Zedaph’s mine, giddy and excited.

_ Explosive mining _ . Zedaph likes the sound of that.

**Your problems aren’t going to disappear if you don’t think about them** , a voice says, distant and stern, and Zedaph knows.

He  _ knows _ .

\---

The tunnels, narrow as they are, vibrate around them with the periodic sounds explosions, showering Zedaph and Beef in grey dust and small pieces of debris as they crawl about, placing pressure plates and TNT blocks into the cramped space and, honestly, despite the danger of it all and the sheer ridiculousness, Zedaph is having fun, his heart is lighter and his face, though grimy and covered in soot, is split by a big grin. The worm their way further and further ahead, somehow avoiding any all too unfortunate accidents, even uncovering some very shiny and very appealing diamonds, caught in a singular bit ore in one of the exploded walls, and Zedaph can only hope there’s more where this one came from, which, apparently, proves the efficiency of this mining method of theirs.

But if he’s being honest with himself, Zedaph is just glad to spend some time with a friend, to not be alone with his own thoughts even if, and the thought stings a bit, but it is  _ true _ , this time, his isolation self-made, is his to own up to and dispel, but it isn’t as simple, Zedaph wants to say, even if it is.

An explosion that feels a lot closer than the other ones startles Zedaph away from the path his thoughts were going down and, all at once, it brings his focus back to the situation at hand, back to Beef yelling something that Zedaph can’t make sense of because his ears are ringing.  _ Why are his ears ringing? _

_ \--- _

It hits him, ironically, when he wakes up in bed, head pounding and his heart beating painfully against unnervingly frail ribs, his eyes wide and stinging with the effort to remain open, the tremors in his hands not stopping even as Zedaph takes hold of one hand with his other and tangles his own fingers together, but, as a result, his teeth begin clattering instead. His brain feels fuzzy and it takes him a few minutes to realise that he had been caught in one of the explosions, it takes him a few minutes to realise that something is wrong with him, as though he is being weighed down, it takes him a few minutes to even  _ notice _ the yellowish, metallic dust across his palms.

Zedaph stares at it with growing confusion, his thought slowed to a halt. Maybe he’d hit gold ore before the explosion, Zedaph thinks, standing up, which becomes an almost impossible task as his knees buckle and struggle to keep him from just smashing his face into the floor, or maybe he’d found some random bits of sand, maybe,  _ maybe- _

But none of these conclusions make sense because Zedaph has never respawned with items on him, so no matter what he might have found, it just doesn’t make sense that he still has  _ any _ remnant of whatever he had mined, intentionally or not, on him. So, then…

“What is this…?”, Zedaph can’t help but ask aloud, and the way his voice echoes around, the silence shattered by it, makes him cringe before turning his attention back to his fingers, which he lightly rubs together. To his surprise, the dust, or sand, or whatever this is, doesn’t rub off and, instead, it almost seems like it intensifies in colour. With a blank face and a bad feeling roiling in his gut, Zedaph runs over to his Magic Puddle, holding his yellowed hands up as though they might begin attacking him at any moment.

With slow, cautious movements, he brings his palms to the water's surface.

\---

For the second time that day, Beef finds him partially submerged in the pleasantly decorated shallow pool of water.

“Zedaph?”, he asks and Zedaph almost jumps, subtly hiding his hands behind his back and straining a smile onto his face, his eyes squinting just a bit too much, his smile showing just a bit more teeth than usual, his shoulders just a bit too stiff.

“Ah, Beef! Sorry, I got a bit… Distracted”, Zedaph explains, stepping out of the small pond and carefully ignoring the wet sounds his shoes make as they squelch against the stone floor, leaving dark footprints behind him. 

“Oh, had an idea for your invention?”, he asks, and, at Zedaph’s nod, he seems to relax a bit, one hand scratching at his beard as he, sheepishly, looks off to the side, “I got worried when you never came back down, but if this is why...”

He turns his face back towards Zedaph, and, despite his words, despite the visible calmness slowly settling over him, there’s something in his eyes, something that still seems to tug at Beef’s mind about the way Zedaph appears before him, something that Zedaph realises quickly, with a slightly sharper inhale, not quite a gasp, but not quite just a normal breath, either, because his lungs contract, shadowing the way his heart does so as well.   
Beef is worried about him.

**Maybe he suspects something isn’t right** , his thoughts say and Zedaph feels just the slightest pang of panic turn bitter in his mouth. He’s not sure why he is panicking in the first place, but the choice of words in his own thoughts,  _ suspects _ , already hints at something not being quite right, but he just isn’t sure what.

“Yeah”, Zedaph reiterates and looks back to Beef, trying to usher his expression into something less tense, something less scared, “But I think… Well, you see, I may have spent my night figuring this little contraption out, so now I’m a bit...”

And Beef, bless his soul, he nods in understanding and steps towards him. Zedaph has to try really hard not to step back, something just at the back of his mind slowly whispering in his ear, whispering about danger, about how something is going to happen, making his fingers curl into fists behind his back. Then Beef’s hand settles on his shoulder and something akin to normality returns to Zedaph. It’s like the touch grounds him, somewhat, helps him sort through the fog that seems to have overtaken his brain, and Beef looks into his eyes.

“Rest is always good”, Beef says, the cheery tone mixing with the worry bubbling just beneath the surface of his words. Zedaph gulps and lets himself be pulled into a friendly, one-armed hug, because the contact feels even more grounding than just a hand patting his shoulder, it feels warm and it gives Zedaph a moment to breathe.

**He’s still worried. That’s never good** .

“Yep!”, Zedaph finally speaks up, arms held even closer to himself behind his back, putting a bit of distance between himself and the man before him, and Beef blinks at the sudden reaction, “That’s what I think I’ll do. Sleep sounds  _ heavenly  _ right now.”

“Uh-huh… Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it, then”, Beef’s smile returns as he begins walking towards the door, before his eyes widen and he gasps, remembering something. A hand rummages through his apron’s pocket and Zedaph gasps as a diamond comes into view. 

“I almost forgot about this”, Beef shakes his head fondly as he offers the small, glistening diamond to Zedaph, taking another one out of his pocket in the meantime and waving it about proudly and Zedaph can’t help the, now much softer and more honest, smile that appears on his face, “It was just one diamond ore, the one we found, but I managed to get two diamonds out of it, isn’t that great?”

The genuine joy in Beef’s smooth voice is contagious and Zedaph giggles. He is about to reach out for the shiny rock, to show his  _ hands _ , when he very abruptly  _ remembers _ . Face falling, he grabs the diamond as quickly as he can before faking a yawn.

“It is, it really is, Beef”, Zedaph agrees, nearly stumbling over his own words with the sudden alarm taking over his feelings, as he leads him to his metal door, his steps hurried, his blood thrumming through his veins almost dizzyingly. Beef seems too shocked by the sudden change in demeanour to say anything else, allowing Zedaph to guide him along, until he is on the other side of the metal door, Zedaph keeping it open with his own body, his smile so fake, at this point, that it might as well have been a barrel replacing a shulker box.

“Uh… Sleep well, then?”, Beef half mutters, as if he himself isn’t sure what is going on exactly, and Zedaph can’t blame him, so he just nods, his fingers behind him digging into his own sleeves, “Just… If something is, you know, not well, reach out...”

And the kindness with which he says these words darkens Zedaph’s smile a bit. He shouldn’t be going around, garnering the other hermits’ worry or empathy, he is  _ fine _ .

**And if they worry, they** **_know_ ** **.**

“I will. I hope we get to hang out again soon, Beef, today was wonderful!”

Zedaph isn’t lying when he says this, and maybe it shows, because Beef drops whatever question he had seemed to have wanted to ask, waving at Zedaph before buckling his elytra up and taking off.

No sooner is Beef out of sight does Zedaph let the door slam shut with a resounding metal clank. He slides against it, the energy in his body all but leaving him a boneless heap with his back against the metal. His hands are in his lap now, and, for just a few seconds, he avoids looking at them, keeps the palms facing down and away from himself, the feeling of nausea making him too nervous to even blink for fear of whatever his body is going through right now.

But he has to  _ see _ .

Slowly, with the care of someone placing old stone bricks, the cracks always threatening to break the whole block apart, the whole thing seemingly a breeze away from crumbling to dust, with his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and his mouth pulled in a tight line, Zedaph turns one of his hands over and unclenches his fist, purple eyes falling onto the faintly golden surface of his palm. The dust, having been cleared with the water of his Magic Puddle, is no longer obscuring the wound-like affliction on the skin of his palm, the area looking scraped raw, but instead of the expected pinkness or, if the wound isn’t too severe, the lightness of the scraped area, something golden, almost glowing is revealed, like there’s something hiding just beneath the skin. 

Zedaph pokes at it, but it doesn’t  _ feel _ any different, it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t more sensitive and it doesn’t even have a different texture to the rest of his skin, the change between his palm and the golden surface tactically seamless. It’s like a fluke. Zedaph cradles his hands to his chest, the diamond throwing a blue hue over his cardigan, on his odd hands and on his tired face as the light of the torches hits it just right from where it is clasped tightly between his fingers. Clifford is outside now, playing with the cows, which is honestly almost a shame because, as Zedaph finally realises that  _ this _ , whatever it is, cannot go on, that he has to reach out to the one person who might be able to give Zedaph any of the answers he  _ needs _ right now, that Zedaph has to contact Xisuma, he feels like a bit of affection is almost a necessity, the weight of the conclusion too heavy on his mind, like a mass of something dark, something unpleasant, something of Zedaph’s own making.

But his exhaustion, one which Zedaph has come to ignore these last couple of days because, no matter how much he sleeps or lays down, it always returns with a vengeance, leaving Zedaph drained, is something he also hadn’t been lying to Beef about.

With trembling limbs, Zedaph makes his way to his storage silo, where he deposits Beef’s diamond in his valuables’ chest, thoughts drifting towards his moonstone almost against his will. Zedaph bites his lip as he considers checking on his stone, but something instinctual inside him tells him that he won’t like what he sees. That he shouldn’t look. That his curiosity should just remain unsatisfied for now, because today had already been weird enough and Zedaph doesn’t need anything more to topple him right over. And yet, Zedaph still reaches inside, still pushes the items about until he reaches the corner where he’s carefully placed the blue crystal, making sure no additional pressure could worsen the crack.

But when Zedaph wraps his fingers around it, gently, something between a shaky exhale and a sob is ripped right out of his chest. He lifts his hand up to his face and the visual confirmation of what he had already felt between his fingers is too much.

The moonstone is no longer cracked. Instead, it is now cleaved in two, the raw edges where the pieces had been joined together darker than the rest of the stone’s beautiful surface, as if it, too, is mourning its own pitiable state, and it shouldn’t affect him so much, Zedaph thinks as he lets Clifford back inside, some time later, whose barking is subdued, Zedaph’s mood all too obvious, and it shouldn’t make his breath wheeze out of his lungs with the burn that allows him neither actual tears and the relief of them, nor ignorance, Zedaph tells himself as he stumbles into bed with the remains of the stone still held between his hands gently, and it shouldn’t mean something, but Zedaph thinks it does.

Clifford curls up next to him, his affection as comforting as ever, but it doesn’t ease the ever-present tightness in Zedaph’s chest, it doesn’t soothe his racing thoughts, but Zedaph still slings an arm across the soft, furry body next to him and Clifford nuzzle his neck.

**This changes everything** , his mind echoes back at him.

Zedaph can no longer hope that it might be just an exaggeration or a lie that his subconscious tries to latch onto him using his inner thoughts.

He will seek Xisuma out first thing in the morning and ask about his past in hopes of something being revealed that might help him understand, Zedaph decides. He’s avoided this conversation long enough.

**But how will you respond to change?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to hoping he finally makes a sensible decision lmao


	9. A Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a past as unclear as before, Zedaph wonders if it isn't his fault that no one seems to know anything about him. The bitter taste of regret isn't something he can simply ignore anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pulled my bigboy pants up and proofread this bad boy B>  
> It's a tad longer than usual, but I felt like having the conversation with Xisuma included would make for a more solid chapter.

When he wakes up, it’s to stiff limbs, again, which isn’t a surprise, not anymore, not after weeks of it happening, but he also wakes up to tears trailing down his cheeks, which  _ is _ . Zedaph can’t remember the last time he had cried actual  _ tears _ , let alone the last time he had done so in his sleep, and the way his head throbs with a faint headache gives him pause as he attempts to sit up in bed, Clifford still sleeping like a rock, unturned and snoring softly, his tongue lolled out, and Zedaph can’t help but scratch behind the dog’s ear, which earns him a happy foot wiggle. Zedaph grins at this, despite the ache of sitting upright settling in his bones like an old wound being reopened, and he stretches his arms over his head to relieve some of the numbness, whilst trying to recall whatever it was he had dreamed about, because he is sure he must have seen  _ something  _ strange in his dreams, if it had managed to make him this emotional. Zedaph still clings to the hope that they are merely  _ dreams _ , at least.

But Zedaph’s mind goes through images of long hallways, their ceilings high and held up by long, ornate columns, goes through the frosted cerulean of the walls, through the arctic indigo of the floors, but he can’t really remember anything else, not in too much detail. Zedaph  _ tries _ to focus and, suddenly, just at the edge of his mind, he thinks can see the silhouette of something,  _ someone _ , at the end of one such hallway, but his headache only worsens the more he tries to close in on the figure, so he stops and takes a moment to breathe while he rubs circles into his temples with shaky fingers. Zedaph sways in place and exhales, slowly, deliberately. His dreams haven’t been  _ normal _ for some time now, they’ve all just felt too… Real, now,  _ that _ would be an exaggeration, Zedaph knows, they’re  _ just  _ dreams, but they feel like something else, glimpses of a past that had been  _ lived _ through by someone else.

**Someone else?** , Zedaph hears the nagging voice at the back of his mind inquire. Zedaph chooses to ignore his own straying thoughts as he goes through his clothes, a shiver making the fact that he might need to dress in something warmer known, even if, objectively speaking, it isn’t that cold, despite the early morning chill still hanging in the air, the world ever so slowly warming up to the rising sun, and Zedaph does wonder if he might be catching a cold. And so Zedaph picks a thicker cardigan, a thinly knitted scarf and, before he can change his mind, he takes out a pair of gloves as well. If Xisuma asks, the excuse of being cold and his hands bearing the brunt of it should most certainly satisfy, or at least, so Zedaph hopes. If not, he’s quirky enough to wear gloves just for the sake of it, too, so that shouldn’t raise any suspicion. Zedaph slips the gloves on, ignoring the glint of gold on the backs of his palms, as if, by pretending nothing had changed, then everything would just solve itself, his problems would unravel like simple bow knots being pulled apart, and he knows that that is very much hopeless, a false reassurance, just another droplet in the pot of denial Zedaph had been brewing up ever since everything had started going astray.

With one last glimpse toward Clifford, who’s still sleeping peacefully, Zedaph decides to search through his food chest for a bit, laying a generous piece of raw mutton on a slab of wood next to the Jump-Powered Furnace, mood shifting to something slightly more joyful even as Zedaph merely imagines all the happy yipping and barking and tail-wagging his ever-growing dog would do once he wakes up. Then he is off, the metal door behind him swinging softly shut as he looks at the orange sky, the sun barely cresting over the horizon, some stars still visible just behind the pinkish clouds scattered about, whilst the moon appears as nothing but a grey spot on the other side of the sky. Zedaph lingers around for just a second, purple eyes fixed on the faded form of the moon and, like this, gray and lifeless, it seems almost...

Zedaph shakes his head. He should get going, he’s been avoiding this for too long. Maybe Xisuma will have the perfect answer, which will offer Zedaph just the solution he needs to actually resolve this whole mess. No more inundated cave bases, no more weird visions, no more… No more of  _ this _ .

Zedaph gets in his boat, doing his best not to lose his balance as the waves gently rock it from side to side, even as he sits down and picks up the paddles with stiff arms. He begins the journey to Xisuma’s base.

* * *

As it turns out, Xisuma isn’t at his base, not as far as Zedaph can tell, walking across the paths winding through the jungle, the white and grey of the concrete almost coming to life, as well, against the vibrant green and the glowing yellow of the honey crystals. But, and Zedaph squints at all of the towers he can see rising above the canopy, just in case he catches a hint of any yellow flying between the farms, there’s no sign of their leader. Zedaph puffs his cheeks and leans against one of the banisters, gloved hands framing the back of his own neck as he looks at his feet and thinks about how much easier this would have been if he had gotten himself an elytra, but then an image of him crashing into literally any and all walls and splashing against the ground flashes before his eyes and Zedaph decides that, maybe, it is better to do this on foot, actually. Or boat, as it were.

Maybe he should message Xisuma, Zedaph muses as a stray parrot lands next to him with a high-pitched squawk, blue feathers ruffled and shiny black eyes fixed on Zedaph with an almost  _ expectant _ look in them, but Zedaph doesn’t think he has any seeds on him, so he shakes his head with a sheepish smile. The parrot tilts their head and shuffles closer. Zedaph reaches a hand out and, surprisingly, the parrot allows him to gently rub at their crested head, the feathers looking soft beneath his fingers, but Zedaph can’t really testify to that, what with the gloves still on. 

With one hand still petting the parrot, suddenly, Zedaph feels a lot calmer as he takes out his communicator, looking for Xisuma’s name and clicking the direct message option. He stares at the blank field his fingers hover over, hesitating for a moment as he thinks about what he  _ should _ type. He takes a deep breath and prepares to send at least a greeting first, before formulating the best and less suspicious message that says  _ we need to talk _ as he possibly can, but then he feels something land on his shoulder and the blue blur that he manages to catch just at the edge of his field of vision tells him exactly what little bird had managed to land on him, and Zedaph thinks this is highly unusual behavior for untamed parrots, but he doesn’t mind.    
Another deep breath. Zedaph begins typing.

_ Zedaph: Hey, X. _

_ Zedaph: Where are you? _

He shuffles his feet in place before sending the next message. __

_ Zedaph: I need to ask you something. _

Zedaph bites his lip and tries to swallow his heart back down, because it has, apparently, decided to lodge itself up in his throat as he awaits a response. A pinch on the soft skin of his cheek lets Zedaph know that his little parrot friend is still there, so he does his best to relax, to lower his shoulders and to keep breathing like he normally does.

But Zedaph doesn’t know what to expect. Is it weird that he doesn’t remember much of his life before joining the hermits? At first, Zedaph had assumed that that had been the case for all of them, but it had only taken a few embarrassing stories shared to the sound of laughter and playful shoves for Zedaph to realise that all of the other hermits,  _ they _ had their pasts, their roots in the common world where they first met and decided to form a group, some of them even adventuring to other worlds before that, whether alone or with some of the others, and they  _ remembered _ those times. The earliest and clearest memory Zedaph has is…It’s…

He’s being introduced by Impulse and Tango to the hermits, they’re in the common world and Zedaph doesn’t know any of them except for Tango and Impulse, who he remembers as though he’s known them his entire life and this memory feels less like a beginning and more like a cut off piece from the rest of the narrative that Zedaph is  _ missing _ . An uncomfortable feeling forms itself in the pit of Zedaph’s stomach as he wonders if he should have talked about this sooner. No one had ever asked, but maybe they’d  _ assumed _ that Zedaph just didn’t have any interest in sharing his own story. No, Zedaph doesn’t know, he doesn’t  _ know _ and the realisation is terrifying, as is the thought of this whole thing being a mistake, because he should have asked earlier, shouldn’t have let this whole situation evolve into this  _ mess _ , but he  _ has _ , and Zedaph feels like his mind is running circles around him, is hitting him, all at once, with all these conclusions that he should have reached a long time ago, but he-

The device in his hands dings and Zedaph almost drops it as he fumbles with it, lips parted as he exhales far too harshly, given the fact that he’d just been  _ thinking _ , not even moving from his spot against the banister, but his eyes sting and his gloved fingers are clumsy, well,  _ clumsier _ than usual. When he does manage to get the communicator back in his hands and finally looks at the screen, he begins considering whether or not he should risk plunging into the ocean, whether or not an elytra would actually be worth the risk,  _ again _ , because that’s really,  _ really _ far and Zedaph feels something heavy settle over him as he reads Xisuma’s response one more time, just to make sure. But it’s not just the distance that unsettles him. There’s no going back, not anymore, he has made his move and he cannot back away anymore, not without festering doubt within their leader at least.

_ Xisuma: I’m at my witch trading hall. Do you know where I’ve built it? _

Zedaph gives the parrot a bland look, but his fingers still shake as he types another message, which prompts the parrot to bite at his ear next. It’s far, and that means Zedaph will be alone with his thoughts again while making his way there. Zedaph doesn’t want to think anymore.

_ Zedaph: Yes. I’ll be there, but not too soon, I’m afraid. _

As soon as he hits send, Zedaph begins walking back the path leading to the ocean and, to his surprise, the parrot remains firmly seated on his shoulder. Well, Zedaph doesn’t mind another pet, he thinks as he runs a gloved finger between the bird’s wing shoulders and they let out a happy little chirp. It’ll take a while to reach Xisuma’s witch trading hall but, at least, he won’t be alone on his way there and, for some reason, that alleviates some of the worry bubbling inside his chest, just enough to allow him to breathe somewhat normally once more as he spots the dark wood of his boat.

* * *

It takes Zedaph a couple of hours to get there, a couple of hours during which he focuses on the clear surface of the cold ocean he steers his boat through, during which he looks at the fluffy white clouds hanging out into the sky, even as the sun moves, ever so slowly, overhead, being way past its midpoint by the time Zedaph sees land again, during which he begins talking to his parrot friend, allowing them to sit on one of the paddles before they flutter to his knee and pinch at the sleeve of his cardigan whenever it passes next to their beak as Zedaph continues rowing, and, most importantly, a couple of hours that Zedaph spends keeping his thoughts as far away from his current quest as possible. By the time he pulls his boat onto the muddy ground of the swamp, where bright blue flowers grow at the base of old willow trees, whose vine-like branches reach the water and sway ever so slightly in the warm breeze and whose stems look like they could be hugged by three people of Zedaph’s stature, at the very least, Zedaph feels a bit of distance between himself and his own brain, or at least, the part of his brain that wants Zedaph to call this entire thing off. 

The air here smells the same way wet clothes feel against one’s body, Zedaph finds himself thinking, and that comparison brings forth an all too fresh memory that Zedaph quickly shuts out, hopping around the pools of water while accompanying himself with a soft chorus of “nope, no, not going there, nuh-uh,  _ no _ ”. The parrot flies just overhead, avoiding all of the tangles of vines and leaves with expert skill, looping between the exposed roots of the biggest swamp trees, pecking at the grass as they advance through the biome. Zedaph smiles a fond little smile and looks ahead, hoping that he had gotten to the right swamp. He now regrets not taking Xisuma up on his offered coordinates, but alas, there’s nothing to be done for it now, he’s already come this far. It isn’t until a few minutes later that he sees it, and Zedaph can’t help but breathe out a relieved cheer as the dark shape of an almost transparent structure, all black glass windows and smoothstone floors and walls, Xisuma’s witch trading hall, comes into view.

Zedaph’s footsteps quicken as he approaches the building, the parrot flying right above him, only to dive and settle on his shoulder, their sharp little claws digging right through the thick cardigan he’s wearing and, for once, Zedaph is glad for the newly-found numbness. He doesn’t feel it.

Soon enough, Zedaph is stepping through a water elevator that bubbles him up to the top of the trading hall in a matter of seconds. Zedaph still holds his breath and closes his eyes, even if he knows that the soul sand will leave him dry, as it always does. When he steps into the main floor of the hall, Zedaph can’t help but let out a short whistle at all of the intricacies of the build, the black glass forming beams that run throughout the whole trading hall, the smoothstone nicely arranged in neat, geometric patterns.Zedaph takes in the view in front of him and, against the black and grey of the interior, it doesn’t take him long to spot a vibrant yellow set of armour, the possessor of said armour turned away from Zedaph, seemingly in deep conversation with a witch. Zedaph steps closer, cautiously, because he wouldn’t want to do a wrong move and ruin Xisuma’s possible business deal, but the witch notices him almost immediately, bright green eyes switching from focusing on Xisuma to staring at him. The witch squints and Zedaph feels like he can’t move under her intense gaze, but that’s when Xisuma notices their guest and turns around to face him, shoulders relaxing when he notices that it’s just Zedaph.

“Hey, X”, Zedaph greets, waving almost nervously, because the witch is  _ very _ intimidating and she keeps looking at him as though she were  _ analysing _ him, and Zedaph does not like that at all. Xisuma doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort and just walks closer, squeezing the shoulder not currently occupied by a blue, oddly quiet, considering their almost never ending chirping while in the boat, parrot in a friendly greeting.

“Zedaph, long time no see, my friend”, Xisuma chimes in, happily, now in front of Zedaph, completely obscuring his view of the witch, but Zedaph is still a little tense, at least until Xisuma turns his head to look back at her, nodding at whatever she’d said before returning his attention to Zedaph. He can hear the sounds of heeled boots swiftly clicking away, then the squeak of a door and then the sound of it closing again. They’re alone now and Zedaph feels as though his head were just an empty bucket, no thoughts, not even the ones he’d been trying to avoid, swirling through his mind, and so when Xisuma looks at him, expectantly, Zedaph can do nothing but gape like a fish freshly pulled out of the murky waters of the swamp. But Xisuma notices his speechlessness and pinpoints the cause of it to be nerves, so he tilts his head just slightly and asks:

“You wanted to talk, Zedaph? I do hope nothing is wrong.”

And he sounds  _ genuine _ , so Zedaph gulps and looks at the parrot who’s arranging their own feathers on his shoulders, their head half concealed in their blue-feathered wing, but his words still fail him. He is hit by a sudden wave of nausea that intensifies the longer the silence goes on, but Zedaph just can’t find the right words, can’t find them in his thoughtless head, can’t bring himself to  _ speak _ , as though something were holding him back.

“Zedaph?”, concern slips into Xisuma’s voice as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking at him, or at least, Zedaph supposes he is, the black eyes of his bee mask-helmet not revealing much of the face or the emotions behind it.

But maybe Zedaph doesn’t need words. He can just come clean about everything that had been going on, can just  _ show _ Xisuma what the problem is, what is wrong with him, what has been getting worse the more Zedaph left it unattended. So Zedaph inhales, lips quivering and eyes avoiding Xisuma as much as possible, fixating on the darkened view behind the black glass. Zedaph extends his hands forwards, gloved as they are, and Xisuma looks down at them with an almost palpable curiosity, despite his concealed expression. 

Zedaph takes another breath and he feels the parrot nipping at his earlobe as he grabs the edge of one of the gloves. His heart is beating too fast, fear that just doesn’t seem to fit in this situation enveloping it in its shadows. It is the sort of fear that doesn’t feel like Zedaph’s own, but Zedaph chooses not to linger on that, because finally, a few words that he had been avoiding like a sickness finally come to Zedaph as he takes one glove off, his palm, still glinting golden, unveiled and a statement all on its own, but it only helps punctuate Zedaph’s question in the grander scheme of this conversation.

“Xisuma… What’s wrong with me?”

There’s silence, then, for a few seconds, and Zedaph gulps again, his bare fingers twitching with the need to pull his arm backs and away from Xisuma’s scrutiny, but even if he does that, Xisuma would have already  _ seen _ exactly what Zedaph had tried to avoid actually giving away. Regret is already starting to grip at Zedaph as Xisuma continues not saying anything, still looking down at the gold-speckled palm and fingers presented before him.

Zedaph doesn’t dare breathe, the tension strung so tight that Zedaph can almost feel it around his  _ throat _ , suffocating him, making his vision blur and his head hurt.

And then Xisuma reaches out for Zedaph’s hand, turning it around,  _ studying _ it in the waning light of the, and Zedaph only notices this now, as he rips his gaze away from Xisuma, as he glances at the windows again, unable to look back, almost setting sun.  _ And then Xisuma finally speaks _ .

“I… Zedaph, I don’t  _ know _ .”

The world around Zedaph shatters, then, his still held breath escaping through his lips in a painful sort of wheeze, the colours around him turning a bit darker as he looks on at Xisuma, who has let go of his hand, but is still looking at it, because Zedaph feels frozen in place, unable to bring his arm back, unable to speak, unable to move,  _ unable to escape _ .

“Zedaph, do you not…”, Xisuma begins, before pausing, maybe thinking of a way to actually phrase his question. Slowly, almost excruciatingly so, awareness returns to Zedaph and, with hurried movements, he shoves his hand back into the glove, gaze steady on the smoothstone floor.   
“What was your life like in the common world, Zedaph?”

It’s spoken hesitantly, as though Xisuma, despite knowing Zedaph for so long, despite everything, doesn’t want to breach a boundary that Zedaph hadn’t even been aware that the hermits were cautious of, not until he himself had been forced to  _ really _ consider his past.

“I don’t know”, it’s a simple answer, and Zedaph’s voice sounds almost airy, blank of any emotion, as he speaks. Xisuma brings a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful given his body language, but the tense set of his shoulders gives away the worry he seemingly feels.

“Where did you come from, if not the commons?”, Xisuma questions in a soft way, and the understanding tone steadies Zedaph somewhat, but the growing feeling of  _ something _ within his heart still has him hesitating.

“I don’t know”, he says again, eyes narrowing and brows being drawn higher and higher up as Zedaph considers what might be going through Xisuma’s head. He had hoped, he had  _ dared _ to hope that Xisuma would have the answers, that maybe Zedaph had just forgotten a few things, but they would be things Xisuma could clarify for him as the leader, but the level of trust Xisuma and everyone else had put in him when they had no idea where Zedaph had even come from is starting to make itself known to Zedaph’s struggling mind. It’s  _ overwhelming _ .

“Zedaph”, Xisuma calls his name and Zedaph realises he’d let his thoughts drift again, so he looks back at the bee-themed helmet, biting his lip, almost sure of what the next question would be and, “Do you know anything about your past?”,  _ Zedaph doesn’t _ .

“ **I don’t know** .”

Zedaph’s eyes widen and he jumps back at the way his voice, just as soft as before,  _ echoes _ around the building, ever so slightly, just barely enough to be noticeable. But Zedaph knows that continuing to remain silent won’t give him any more answers, and so, with this almost pained look in his eyes, Zedaph wraps his arms around himself and looks at Xisuma as the parrot pecks at his cheek once more, a gesture of comfort from his little feathered friend.

“I thought you might know, I..”, Zedaph shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, “I hoped I had just… Forgotten. And that…”

Try as he might, Zedaph can’t get out another word, shocked into absolute silence as he looks to Xisuma with pleading eyes, a chill settling in his bones, making Zedaph shiver.

“...That I might be able to help you remember?”, Xisuma continues and Zedaph nods, feeling faint all of a sudden as his eyes shift to the view outside of the trading hall again, the moon already on the rise, the clouds having seemingly cleared while Zedaph had been talking to Xisuma and allowing a clear picture of the circle of white surrounded by twinkling stars that only seem to make it seem even brighter in comparison.

“We found you while we were taking a break, in the commons”, Xisuma suddenly begins explaining, slowly, softly, one hand settled on Zedaph’s shoulder again, and Zedaph truly hadn’t realise how close he had been to tears until he blinks the sting of them away in order to look at the black eyes of Xisuma’s helmet, “Zedaph, you were wandering alone on a beach there and, when Impulse and Tango went to ask if you were ok, you three seemed to...”

And the memory is distant, a faded vision of yellow sand beneath bare feet, blue waves crashing against the rocks at the far end of the sand dunes, of two smiling faces, a sharp grin, a pair of warm, brown eyes, voices asking  _ something _ , but it is there. Zedaph almost cries with relief.

“Click. They befriended you while we were all on our break, waiting to join a new world, and, by proxy, we got to meet you, as well. We decided to take you in as one of us, but Zedaph… You never spoke of your past and it didn’t seem like… It never seemed to be something you were willing to talk about,  _ gods _ , I just...”

The rhythm of the explanation gets faster as Xisuma speaks, his thoughts catching up to him and Zedaph finally finds his voice, resigns himself to the reality that, while he doesn’t know what to think, what to feel,  _ who he is _ , anymore, Xisuma doesn’t seem to blame him, he just seems so worried and Zedaph would never want anyone to worry about him,  **they already do** , wouldn’t want to be a burden to them like that,  **aren’t you one already** , wouldn’t want Xisuma to know how the realisation is making his thoughts kick back into place at an almost dizzying speed, hitting all of his panic buttons with a precision that is almost eerie. Zedaph manages to remain calm,  _ somehow _ .

“It’s fine, X. I’m sure whatever this is… I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

He tries to sound reassuring, tries his best to smile, but Xisuma squeezes his shoulder.

“We.  _ We  _ will figure it out. You’re not alone, Zedaph. We haven’t seen you around in a bit, and maybe this”, Zedaph doesn’t need to see Xisuma’s eyes stare at his gloved hands, he can hear the unspoken meaning of what  _ this _ actually refers to, “Might have been one of the causes of that, but, and I promise you this,  _ you’re not alone _ .”

Zedaph doesn’t hear his own response, all sound around him distorted to his ears, as though he were underwater, but he can tell it’s an affirmative one and Xisuma’s hand, after patting him on the back in a comforting way, leaves him, but Xisuma doesn’t step away, doesn’t prepare to shoo Zedaph off now that Zedaph asked his question, he looks like he is still worried and that makes a painful pang run through his heart.

“We... We will. Don’t worry, X”, and this time, at least partially, Zedaph’s smile is real. Xisuma opens his arms and Zedaph doesn’t hesitate, lets himself be hugged, takes comfort in the gesture, however insignificant it may be, because it’s something he didn’t realise he needed until that moment. 

They don’t stay like that for long, but after a few more pats and reassuring words, Xisuma leads him back down the water elevator, even as he explains that he still has some business to do at his witch trading hall, but that Zedaph shouldn't hesitate to message him, should anything happen, even if he just needs someone to talk to, because even without Xisuma explicitly saying it, Zedaph knows he wouldn’t just go around sharing what he had been told, and Zedaph feels as though he is still in the water of the shute, even as he steps onto, well,  _ partially _ dry land, the parrot having moved themselves from his shoulder to the top oh his head instead, nestling themselves between the light blonde strands, because the world around him seems misty and still not quite right. Xisuma asks him if he is fine and Zedaph forces himself to nod, so the leader waves him off with a smile and Zedaph begins walking back towards the ocean, his energy draining with every step he takes, though the parrot pulling at his hair when he gets a bit too slow for their tastes definitely makes Zedaph pick his pace back up again.

Soon, he is back in his boat, his thoughts a muted chaos beneath the surface of reluctant calm that had settled over him ever since his talk with Xisuma, and Zedaph doesn’t dare wonder if he’ll find the energy to row back to his cave.

The answer is looking more and more like a definitive  _ no _ with every twist of his arms, his palms shaking against the wooden handles of the paddles.

Zedaph tries anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please buckle up, everyone, the next two chapters will be quite heavy on introspection.


	10. Through the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way home, Zedaph stumbles over a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, my friends!  
> It's a shorter chapter too, but I'm also glad to say that I think I know where future chapters are going! I mean, I always had a plan, but there was an awkward gap between further plot and current events ^^;  
> Regardless, this chapter is a bit shorter and has quite a heavy focus on introspection, but plot should be picking up in the next chapters?  
> Anyway, enjoy :>

Zedaph had expected for the journey home to be exhausting, given the way his brain seems as tired as his body feels, given that, emotionally, Zedaph feels ready to take a very long, possibly day long nap, and it seems like he might have underestimated his ability to stay awake, whilst  _ also _ underestimating how drained he'd feel.   
Zedaph feels a pinch on his cheek from his new parrot friend and he winces at the pressure, even if it doesn’t hurt, but he is also smiling as he reaches up to pat the parrot that’s cozied themselves up in his hair, wrapping their own wings around themselves and reaching down to peck at Zedaph whenever it so pleases them. Zedaph shakes his head, but gently, and smiles through his yawn, lazily rowing still.

He feels like he’s been at it for hours and maybe he has, Zedaph realises, because he is definitely slower than he usually would be, but also because the world around him, its dark blue sky littered with stars and its moon, for the most part covered up by shifting clouds, had changed into something else as the sun rose.

Zedaph hadn’t expected a clear sky, not when, throughout the night, he’d watched the heavy clouds, few though they may have been at first, drift overhead, slowly covering up the night sky, but he cannot say that, after a while of being wrapped up in his own head, thinking about nothing, for once, the change in scenery isn’t at least a little… Off-putting.

He can’t not have noticed the way the mist had settled over the slowly moving waves, but Zedaph is almost surprised at how thick it is, at how the off-white of it limits his vision enough that Zedaph can barely even see a few feet of dark water in front of him. The sea, in the distance, or what looks like the distance due to the fog making the horizon that much harder to spot, melding the deceptively calm surface of the water with the cloudy dark sky almost perfectly.

Zedaph gives the parrot on top of his head one more pat and then he brings his hand down to the paddle. This isn’t the first time he’s drifted in and out of his thoughts during a long journey, this isn’t the first time Zedaph had been too distracted to see the world around him change, but he’s never done so when he’d been in charge of getting himself or his passengers, in this case, the parrot, somewhere. 

“Maybe the lack of sleep is really getting to me, then…?”, he asks no one in particular and the parrot just lets out one of its squawks, which sounds oddly compassionate, but Zedaph bites his lips. Maybe he should have told Xisuma about these… Symptoms, as well.

But Zedaph blinks and something heavy settles in his stomach. Guilt.

With a long sigh and a momentary break from the rowing, Zedaph looks down at his own lap, at his gloved hands, which he brings together and, almost unconsciously begins fiddling with, nearly slipping the fabric off of his fingers as he thinks.

Deep down, Zedaph knows that telling Xisuma about the changes that he’d been experiencing is a good thing, that it’s only fair, when the hermits had never forced him to share a past that Zedaph has, up until this point, been comfortably oblivious about himself, that he should tell someone about what is going on, but on the other hand, it feels wrong.

He picks the paddles back up and, with painfully slow movements, begins rowing again as he, once again, almost ironically, allows his thought to drift alongside him. Deeper down, Zedaph is scared of what this means. He thinks about the places from his dreams, the ones he can remember, at least, the image of hands glimmering golden flashes before his eyes as well, and, for a second, Zedaph asks himself if he is seeing things. He can only imagine Xisuma going along with what Zedaph had been telling him so as to not hurt his feelings, but only seeing Zedaph as he always has been and not actually understanding what Zedaph is rambling on about, which wouldn’t be new for anyone in Xisuma’s shoes, including Zedaph himself, and that, in itself, is terrifying to Zedaph, the fact that he doesn’t know whether he can even trust himself, let alone the other hermits.

**But they do trust you. They’ve let you join them, haven’t they? Don’t ruin that for us.**

Zedaph thinks that might have been the most productive thought he’s had in weeks, but at the same time, it doesn’t make the guilt of telling Xisuma, in part, at least, about what had been happening to him, any better, it makes it feel like even more of a hopeless situation, because, from now on, someone knows and if Zedaph lets it slip that he isn’t doing well, someone will figure him out at least.

It should feel relieving, it should feel freeing, knowing that he’s not alone, that people do care about him, despite how much Zedaph keeps to himself usually, even without all of oddities he’s been experiencing, but he feels more like a burden to them, feels like he should find a way to solve his issues by himself, like everyone does, feels like-

The parrot pinches at his forehead now, gently enough that even the pressure is barely there, and Zedaph breathes in. He keeps rowing and squints at the mist, pretending that his thoughts aren’t slipping again. Maybe if he tells himself that he is worthy of help from the people he holds dearest enough times, he’ll end up believing it, but for now, Zedaph closes his eyes as he feels the parrot climb down onto his shoulder and nuzzle at his cheek. It seems like they know more about what Zedaph is thinking than they let on, but Zedaph doesn’t mind the contact. He even leans into it a little, almost wishing that he could do the same to his more human friends, but this is enough.

They chirp softly in his ear and Zedaph almost smiles. He looks at the misty sea and, because he’s not really taken a course that has too many turns, he can only hope that he is heading into the direction of home, but it’s not like he can tell. Hopefully the mist will clear soon and, then, Zedaph will be able to sleep without any more weird dreams, without waking up feeling too numb to function. Maybe he will wake up and know what is going on, but…

Zedaph chirps back at the parrot lovingly, even if it is a whisper of a sound. He’d like to say that he is pretty good at imitating animals, but he is too tired to put in any effort this time. They seem to get his message and cuddle up in their wings right there, on his shoulder, radiating a bit of warmth and making Zedaph shiver as he realises just how cold it is today.

This is enough. It has to be. Zedaph has to make sure it is.

* * *

Being lost at sea isn’t a lot of fun, Zedaph discovers, rummaging through his pack in hopes of finding a map, a compass or, at the very least, the miscellaneous bit of redstone and some iron that he usually has around with him, even if they’re never too helpful, but all his searching only yields a half-eaten carrot, one of Clifford’s homemade treats, a throwaway iron sword and a soft, wooly blanket. Normally, these items would be useful, food, a weapon, a blanket for warmth and something for his pet, but, as it stands, they can’t guide Zedaph back home and, with the mist surrounding him on all fronts, with it seeming almost tangible with how dense it is, Zedaph can only look all around him in hopes of some landmark cropping up.

The parrot is sitting on one of the paddles, left abandoned in its little, wooden support, and staring straight ahead, almost as though they were watching something. Zedaph looks at them with faint concern stretched across his brow, because they’d been at this for the past half an hour and Zedaph is worried. He'd tried feeding them some of the carrot, but they’d remained unturned.

Only when Zedaph sits back down on the boat’s bench do they twist their head, slightly, and their tail twitches, the blue feathers ruffling each other with the motion, and their black eyes are on him. Zedaph tilts his head and the gleam in their eyes almost looks like a response to the unasked question.

Something is out there.

Zedaph doesn’t move, he remains where he is seated and only turns his head this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary, but only the fog fills his vision and Zedaph feels like the monotony of the scenery around him is adding even more weight to his tiredness, but he keeps his eyes open and blink repeatedly.

“Hello?”, Zedaph asks in the most confident tone he can muster, trying to go for that cheer that he is characterised by, but Zedaph winces when it comes out as a borderline panicked tone, instead, so he tries again, “Anyone out there?”

If it is a mob, it won’t understand him, but it will have heard Zedaph yelling out for someone, loud and clear, and it might be heading for Zedaph right now. Zedaph wants to kick himself when he realises his mistake, but the parrot clicks their beak at him and Zedaph stops himself from facepalming himself right out of the boat.

Then Zedaph sees it.

The very dim, orange glow of something in the distance.

With a wide-eyed sort of wonder, Zedaph picks up the paddles and begins rowing towards it. If it is a mob, it has the very peculiar ability of mimicking torchlight, then. 

As Zedaph goes closer and closer towards the glow, the mist begins dissipating around what is casting it, layer after layer falling away to reveal a single torch on an empty beach, a sand castle right next to it, tiny red flags that are carefully placed into the towers of the little structure unmoving in the lacking breeze. Zedaph likes looking at the details of things, thinks it is what makes something unique, and, for once, this trait of his becomes useful because he knows where he is.

Zedaph knows only one person who is this good at building things in miniature and he cannot deny the awe he feels when, after rowing for a minute longer, he is pulling his boat on the small beach and approaching the sand castle, in all its adorable, tiny glory. 

This must be a Cleo build and, hopefully, then, this must be near Cleo’s base.

And so Zedaph moves further up the beach until the sand, slowly, switches over to dirt and to a messy stone path, greenery thrown around from place to place on its sides. Zedaph walks along the path, carefully, minding his feet, and as he gets closer to the main gate he’d seen Cleo talking about in the chat, he gapes at it, at the massive lion and elephant holding it up, at the sheer magnitude and finesse of simply the entryway. Zedaph thinks that, were he not too tired to walk for much longer, swaying where he stands, he would have taken more time to ogle at the build, but his circumstances being what they are, Zedaph resumes walking and spares all of the buildings he encounters in his path a small glance. In the distance, he sees the faded silhouette of more builds, but Zedaph feels the way the cold is getting to him. As best as he can, he begins running forward. He wants to look through the window of the closest exhibit, but the sight of what looks like an enormous bug has Zedaph squealing and jumping back, embarrassingly enough. Even in his tired mind, Zedaph registers the relief of the fact that, at least, no one had seen him. He gets up on shaky legs and brushes the dust off of his jeans, taking in a long breath and willing his heart to calm down.

“Zed? That you out there?”

Someone had seen him.

Zedaph wants to go back to the bug monster on the off chance it might actually be willing to eat Zedaph, but before he has time to take another step, a hand lands on his shoulder and, for the second time in less than a minute, Zedaph finds himself yelping like a particularly scared animal. Turning around reveals Cleo standing behind him, a crooked smile on her face, her bright orange hair and her sparkling green eyes standing out in the mist that conceals most of the zoo behind her.

“Ah”, she says, teasingly, and pats Zedaph on the back as he faces her, rubbing the nape of his neck and looking away, ignoring the way his face flushes with embarrassment, “I knew I recognised that terrified scream from somewhere.”

She grins at him and Zedaph gives in and laughs a little, his chest feeling a little lighter, all of a sudden, as if he’d been expecting something worse to jump at him from the cloak of the fog.

He had, but that’s neither here nor there.

"Hi, hello, Cleo”, Zedaph says and Cleo pats his shoulder this time, nodding her head in greeting.

“Not really weather meant for visiting friends out there, is it?”, she asks and, though her smirk is still on her face, one hand resting on her hip while the other remains on Zedaph’s shoulder, there’s something in her voice that Zedaph recognises as curiosity.

He shakes his head and sighs.

“The mist set in and I… Well, you see...”, Zedaph fiddles with his hands again. He notices the way Cleo’s gaze follows his hands and can only hope that she doesn't question the gloves. Cleo is the kind of person that one, or at least Zedaph, could never lie to, because whenever he’s done so in the past, he’s always had the impression that she knows. Even when it came down to innocent yes-I-have-enough-diamonds-to-pay-for-this lies, she’s always looked at Zedaph like she knew he was lying. Not to mention the fact that, if Zedaph were to be questioned about his hands, he’d probably just melt into the ground, never to be seen again. Mentally at least.

Cleo raises an eyebrow at the ongoing silence, probably expecting more of an answer, but Zedaph bites the insides of his cheeks and keeps looking away.

“Got lost, did you?”

Zedaph purses his lips before smiling awkwardly and continuing in a bit of a softer tone:

“The weather was better when I left, you see...”

Cleo nods at that, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and, with a wave of her hand, she points in the direction of one of her buildings, the shape of which Zedaph can barely make out.

“Join me for a cup? I don’t think the fog’ll go away too soon and I don’t trust you with a map.”

Zedaph gulps and follows her when she begins walking in front of him, her body still not fully turned away from him, her eyes following Zedaph as he shuffles along behind her.

Act normal, don’t make her worry, his thoughts warn him and Zedaph smiles in Cleo’s direction. It is a warm smile, and he does feel the affection behind it, but if the corners of his lips are pinched just a little too tightly in his expression, then that is Zedaph’s business alone.

“That sounds heavenly right now, Cleo.”

With a smaller, but more meaningful smile, she turns away to open the door leading to her own living quarters, her orange hair helping Zedaph guide himself within the curtain of mist almost like some sort of beacon.

Zedaph isn’t lying when he says that he wouldn’t mind some tea and a warm place to take a break in, but can only hope that he isn’t disrupting whatever Cleo had been doing before Zedaph reached her base.

His own need for companionship and the gaping void of security that isolation brings him fight over what Zedaph should do, but, for now, the former wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleo Zed friendship? Peak.


	11. A Quiet Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph and Cleo have a conversation, which leads Zedaph to think that, maybe, he can fix this somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes I want to write more Cleo in the future because she is GREAT and I love her, not to mention [insert lore reasons here]

She leads him to her bedroom and gestures at the bed with a “sit down and make yourself comfortable or I will cut you” kind of look in her green eyes and, though Zedaph laughs and plops himself down onto the soft mattress, kicking his shoes off, one of which ends up under the bed, but that is a problem for future Zedaph, he tells himself, but he is secretly relieved at not having to stand up anymore because, somewhere along his short journey from his boat to Cleo’s bedroom, which looks small and cozy, probably not a permanent setup, Zedaph had begun feeling the same weakness and numbness that he wakes up with more often than not, nowadays, and sitting down helps him ignore it a little bit. 

“I’m gonna go get us our drinks”, Cleo says and, for a second, before leaving, she looks at Zedaph, keeps looking at Zedaph, her eyes not betraying any emotion that, were Zedaph in the right headspace, he would try to decipher. It is almost unnerving, but Zedaph knows she doesn’t mean anything by it, his paranoia is of his own doing. 

She probably notices the way Zedaph freezes up because she smiles slightly before actually walking through the doorway, her bright orange hair flowing behind her in loose curls, and Zedaph attempts to smile back, too.

As soon as he is no longer in her sight, though, Zedaph collapses in on himself, his shoulders hunching and his hands, gloved though they still are, gripping the cold blanket beneath him. He’s ok, Zedaph keeps telling himself, it’s just that he is tired, there’s nothing wrong with feeling a bit off when hr hasn’t slept as much as he should have, is it? There’s nothing wrong with being a bit more hesitant than he knows he portrays himself as being usually, when he hasn’t been around people lately, is there?

Zedaph knows he is making excuses, but it is once he tells himself that things aren’t quite right and it is once he reassures himself that it’s ok that he isn’t fairing all too well right now, he’ll take care of that later, that Zedaph is able to take a deep breath. He rubs at his eyes and is very tempted to take the gloves off, but he keeps that urge in check.

Zedaph draws his legs underneath him and tries to find a more casual position as he sits there, waiting for Cleo. 

A genuine smile, a bit tired, a bit wrinkled at the edges, makes its way on Zedaph’s face, though, because he has always enjoyed Cleo’s company, with her frank, maybe a bit violent, but all in all caring way of being. That is how she finds him, looking almost lost in thought, but smiling gently.

When Cleo clears her throat, Zedaph wants to pat himself on the back for not being too startled, but she just rolls her eyes when his smile widens into a grin and the two large mugs she is holding in her hands seem hot enough to burn. Maybe gloves weren’t too bad of an idea. Zedaph moves to stand, but she shakes her head and sets his mug on the single chest that serves as her temporary nightstand, whilst cradling her own in both of her hands and sitting on the bed herself, her back to the pillows and one of her feet nudging at Zedaph’s thigh. Zedaph turns himself a little so he can see her better and stretches his arm out for the mug. The smell of black tea, the one he knows Cleo likes, fills his senses and Zedaph’s nerves settle even further. 

“Haven’t had time to sit down and have a chat lately, have you?”, Cleo asks and takes a sip of her tea, and if her tea is as hot as Zedaph’s, any burn her tongue must be going through doesn’t show on her face. Zedaph isn’t quite sure if it is an undead thing or a Cleo thing, but he still giggles.

“Nah, been quite busy with… Stuff”, Zedaph answers and winces a little. He has completed some projects, but the amount and the quality of them is not necessarily something he wants to boast about, even if he does think his own contraptions are creative, if literally nothing else. Or so Zedaph tells himself.

“Stuff”, Cleo repeats flatly and Zedaph looks off to the side, blowing over the top of the mug and attempting to take a small sip of his own tea. 

“Contraptions…?”

This does seem to make her perk up a little, her eyes flashing with interest. Neither of them had gone for a megabase in this world and Zedaph realises that the thought is quite comforting.

“You know, I’ll always envy you for actually being able to do redstone”, Cleo says and she sounds almost proud as she gulps down more tea before slipping even lower down the small mountain of pillows at the headboard and resting her mug against her chest. Zedaph feels the way his face heats up, but his mind immediately wants to jump in and contradict her, tell her how he can barely get his inventions to work, but he holds himself back, at least partially.

“It’s… Well, it’s nothing much, is it? I say your skill with armour stands and miniature builds is even more enviable, though”, Zedaph ends up countering and a crooked smirk appears on Cleo’s lips, but she also raises and eyebrow at him and Zedaph feels like he should maybe attempt to hide his face with his hands, but the mug makes that a little more difficult.

“Shut up, you’re doing great.”

And the final tone of her words has Zedaph snapping his mouth shut against another less than kind to himself reply. Cleo nods at this like she is content with his lack of further arguments. Zedaph keeps smiling softly and it doesn’t feel forced, he is at peace, for this one moment.

“That’s better”, Cleo begins again and downs the rest of her tea like it is nothing, leaving Zedaph a little wide-eyed because he still has a basically full mug, but he shakes his head as Cleo gets even more cozy on her pillow pile backrest, “Now, how’ve you been, Zed?”

Zedaph can hear the grin in her voice as he raises the mug to his lips and takes another sip.

He takes a moment to think about what to say and it really is a bit more complicated than he’d like to admit, deciding what to hide and what to tell her. A half truth would be best, he knows, but he also doesn’t like lying, especially not to Cleo because, despite how much he doesn’t want to worry anyone, it is Cleo that would probably smack him over the back of his head if she found out about… Well, everything.

“Been better. I’m… Adapting still, I guess.”

Zedaph winces at the way his voice goes uncharacteristically quiet, but Cleo hums and gently kicks her leg from up against his thigh to his ribs before bringing it back. Her rainbow coloured socks, though they stand out, are typical for Cleo, but they also look very warm and fuzzy.

“Still seems like a new world, doesn’t it?”, she asks and she sounds a bit nostalgic, which makes Zedaph bring his attention back to her face. She has a distant, but fond look in her eyes, like she is remembering something. He feels the twinge of something in his chest. 

“Yeah…”, Zedaph shakes his head as well and sips at his tea, enjoying the way the bitter taste is countered by what he thinks is honey. It works better than sugar for this particular herbal mix, Zedaph concludes.

“You don’t look too good, Zed”, she ends up saying and Zedaph chokes on the hot liquid, wheezing out as he tries to cough all of the tea out of his lungs. Cleo doesn’t stir, probably aware that this isn’t anything all too worrying, but she still keeps an eye on him and her quirked brow aids the almost suspicious tilt of her voice in her previous statement.

“Well, that’s just how it is! S-sometimes…?”, Zedaph answers the unasked, but still obvious question, still coughing a little. Cleo pushes herself away from her pillows and, as she gets closer, her hands land on Zedaph’s shoulders. Her intense gaze stops Zedaph from looking away, but he still tries. 

“Zedaph, how are you?”, and Zedaph can’t help but ask himself if she knows something, but all of her nearly aggressive concern finds its justification within Cleo’s next words, “You look tired, sick maybe. And don’t think the fact that you were out and about in this condition is something I’ll sweep under the rug!”

And Zedaph knows. He can almost taste the terror some of his dreams, his nightmares, his visions bring him and he can feel the way exhaustion tugs at his very being because of them. He knows that the things weighing on his mind, despite having shared part of the burden with Xisuma, won’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t feel like he can handle hiding it right now, not with the way Cleo is gripping his shoulders, but looking at him with this sharp edge of concern to her gaze.

“I… It’s fine, Cleo”, and, gods, Zedaph hopes it will be, even as the warmth of the mug makes the way his fingers turn a bit colder, making his whole hands shake, all the more obvious.

And Cleo pulls back. Her gaze doesn’t get any less intense, but she pulls back.   
“Ok, Zed”, Cleo says in a tone that seem softer than anything Zedaph has ever heard from her, at least, when directed at his own person, and Zedaph feels the way his stomach churns, feels like the fog from outside has moved into his lungs, making breathing difficult, making his chest feel stuffy and wrong, but it’s ok. Zedaph’s gloved hands tremble around the mug, but he forces himself to take another sip, if only to alleviate his own screeching thoughts. Zedaph can still feel Cleo’s gaze on him, so he stops avoiding looking at her and, when purple meets green, Zedaph wishes she would hug him, but cannot find the voice to ask for that sort of comfort, almost as though, somewhere deep down, he knows the request would not only be denied, but be met with something worse, something to punish him with and-

And Zedaph inhales, takes a deep breath in, because Cleo would never do that. It’s just his own paranoia, he is safe, he keeps telling himself.

**From your friends, maybe** , Zedaph hears his thoughts resonate in his head and he keeps hearing them, because the words make his skin crawl. Only one of Cleo’s hands returns to his shoulders and Zedaph is now convinced she can maybe, possibly, definitely read thoughts, because she moves herself and pulls Zedaph into a tight, one-armed hug.

Zedaph closes his eyes.

“Change been hard on you?”, it is a question, but Zedaph knows he doesn’t have to answer it. The way loneliness had seeped into his bones is not something Zedaph had realised because, even as he’d talked to Xisuma, he’d been too afraid to lay his emotional side out in the open as well, especially after everything he’d already told him, but it’s different now.    
Cleo sometimes seems rough, nearly aggressive, but Zedaph knows she has a heart of gold and he can only sigh deeply and hope that his eyes will dry up before she finishes hugging him, because the way her arm tightens around him, pulling him close, the way the warmth of another person, even if her temperature is slightly lower than that of an average human's, makes Zedaph both feel more at peace than he’s felt in days, maybe weeks, while also bringing him the type of comfort that Zedaph almost exclusively gets from his dog and from-

Zedaph stops himself from thinking about them and just wraps his arms around Cleo as well, after having put his mug on the floor at his feet.

“Yeah...”, and it sounds a bit watery, but Zedaph thinks that, as long as he will pretend that everything is fine afterwards, then he can enjoy a little bit of affection, can let himself melt into the hug.

Once they part, Zedaph feels oddly empty, almost like he’d been scrubbed roughly enough that the nerves no longer respond, but he feels a bit tense, on an emotional level, as though he is awaiting a pain that doesn’t come. He can tell Cleo is still a little worried, but she is smiling now and that is enough for Zedaph to tune out some of the thoughts accusing him of bringing her into this, even if he hadn’t technically told her anything.

They find themselves shoulder to shoulder on the bed, after a few minutes of silence, Zedaph with his knees drawn-up to his chest and Cleo sitting cross-legged where she’d been lying before. Their sides are touching and Zedaph hopes he can keep feeling it a bit longer, hopes the numbness will stay away from this moment he shares with her. 

And Zedaph can’t stop thinking, can’t stop noticing the worry in the little glances she shoots his way, in the little movement of her shoulder against his, in the set of her brows, he can’t stop telling himself that this thing, revealing what he feels, what is happening, first with Xisuma and now with Cleo, is wrong, but he can’t take it back.

“I promise, it’s all ok, Cleo”, Zedaph whispers and it sounds weak and defensive, almost, but her shoulders shake with a disbelieving sound.

“Zed, it’s ok if it isn’t, yeah?”, she says, firmly, and she leans even more heavily into him after reaching down and presenting Zedaph with his own half-empty mug. He takes a shaky sip and then a shakier yet breath.

“We may be hermits, but we look out for one another and… Look, people miss you. And no, no debates about that, I don’t want to hear it.”

Zedaph laughs a little at the fondly exasperated tone of voice she uses, but he can only wonder where she is going with this or how much of this is exaggerated for his benefit.

She steals his mug, only to give it back a second later after taking a big sip of what remains of his lukewarm black tea, which Zedaph doesn’t mind, and then Cleo is speaking again.

“We want to be around each other, and trust me, your best friends have asked about you more than is probably normal, but to be honest, it was kind of funny.”

He thinks she might start laughing any minute now and Zedaph can only turn his head to the side and hope she doesn’t catch the way his whole face goes red. He tries to get the image of them out of his mind, but both his feelings for them and his guilt over those same feelings make it that much more difficult to accomplish. Zedaph tries, anyway.

“I’m sorry”, is all Zedaph can muster and he wants to slam his head against one of the walls around him because of how pitiful it sounds, but it is true. He’s worried them, he’s-

Zedaph has, even in his absence affected them, affected Impulse and Tango, and Zedaph feels almost freed by thinking their names when he’d been trying not to, when he’d been trying to be good, that for a second, the guilt ticks back a notch, and Zedaph wants to take everything he’s done back, it feels like it is too much, like-

Cleo lets her head rest against his shoulder and it snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts, even if the cold of them lingers in his mind.

“Don’t be. We all love and care for you, but those two are really something else”, Cleo confesses, managing to sound irritated and fond at the same time, in the same way she does when she threatens Joe with the breakage of his legs, “We care for you, got that, dummy?”

Zedaph laughs and behind the soft sound of it, he shoves all of the guilt away. He’ll let it eat at him later, when there is no one there to hear it, he’ll enjoy this moment after days of nothing but fear over whatever is going on with him getting worse and he will not let her concern get any worse.   
Zedaph is fine. 

He has to be.

* * *

They stay like that for a bit more, until Zedaph finishes his tea, and he asks about her zoo, asks about how her relationship with False and Stress is going, he makes some of the jokes that he knows Cleo will like and, when he is waving goodbye, when the mist has cleared just a tad, just enough for him to make it home, he feels lighter on his feet, even if he knows it won’t last. But Zedaph doesn’t care, he just wants to be happy.

The parrot is not in the boat when he reaches it, but as soon as he steps onto the wooden planks of it, they fly from somewhere to Zedaph’s right and land back where they had been before, on his head. Distantly, he hears Cleo cackle and he even chuckles a little himself. 

Even so, his return trip isn't nearly as pleasant as his little visit to Cleo's.

As he rows back home, Zedaph cannot stop thinking about it, cannot stop thinking about how, maybe, if his worst fear is right, if it is all in his head, than maybe he should just go back to doing what he’s always done, to following Impulse and Tango around, even if it sometimes hurts, because their company means more to him than he hopes they realise, to doing silly things that make people laugh, that make Zedaph himself laugh, to being who he’s always been.

It almost feels daunting, but Zedaph wants to be fine.

He looks down at his gloves when he sees the shore of the desert in front of his cave approaching. By now, the mist is even fainter, but the darkness of the approaching night has replaced it in its role to make Zedaph’s visibility as limited as possible. Despite his hopes, he knows what lies behind the gloves and Zedaph knows that, in order to go back to what made him feel like himself, to what he had, he has to hide this, whatever this is. 

Zedaph will try. He will do his best, but he doesn’t know if that is enough, anymore.

A corner of one of the gloves pinched between the fingers of his other hand reveals the glint of gold that has Zedaph wincing.

It’s ok, he assures himself as he steps onto the shore, as he drags his boat through the sand, as he offers his forearm to the parrot, watching as they gladly curl themselves up on the soft material of his cardigan’s sleeve and pinch at it, Xisuma will just make sure he is safe and that will be that, and Zedaph is fine, he really is. He knows Clifford can, at this point and with his size, handle his own food, but he’s also missed him, so Zedaph blames his hurried steps on that and not on the way the sky clears even more the darker it gets, as though he were running from something, He isn’t, probably, he isn’t, logically.

Zedaph just wants things to go back to normal.

He opens the door to his Cave of Contraptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might just disregard my buffer at this point, because I think that I have a good enough schedule to actually update more regularly as it is, but hm...


	12. Clearer Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his dream, a way forward is found, but Zedaph would rather take a step back in his own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I meant to update a bit earlier, was just gone for a while and couldn't, but here's another chapter feat. the pets being cutiepies.

Zedaph is tired enough that, upon entering his base, it is only the parrot tucked into the crook of his arm that stops him from simply collapsing to his knees, though if the way he clings to the cold, stone walls of it says anything, he’s not too far from doing so unintentionally either. They chirp quietly and their blue feathers fluff up a little bit as the iron door swings shut behind them, but Zedaph comes to find that it had not, in fact, been the sound of the door closing that had prompted the sound. The thumps and clatter of paws upon the solid floor of the cave draws Zedaph’s attention towards the open back door, the one leading to some of his haphazardly thrown together farms and to the sparse forest right at the edge of his mountain. Clifford is running straight for them and, before Zedaph can even blink at the sight, before he can try to at least verbally placate the all too obvious joy portrayed clearly on his dog’s fluffy, little face, Zedaph finds himself tackled to the ground.

He can hear the parrot flying off of his arm and, suddenly, Zedaph is on the floor, Clifford licking at his face and half laying on his chest, which makes Zedaph wheeze a little, even though he smiles as he tries to push Clifford’s head away for a bit so he can breathe, but his efforts are futile. His dog’s love is entirely too affective and, when Zedaph feels a tug in his hair, the light yellow strands of it probably getting grimy due to the dusty stone flooring of his cave, he knows that his bird companion is also, in their own way, joining in on the apparent  _ attack Zed _ fest that seems to be going on. 

It only takes about a minute for Zedaph to give up on resisting Clifford’s wet kisses and excited yapping and the parrot’s pinching of his cheeks, but as he surrenders, allowing himself to go lax against the smooth, hard surface beneath him, a fond, but exhausted smile on his face, Zedaph cannot help but be glad for his pet.  _ Pets _ , he thinks hopefully, bringing one hand to the scruff on Clifford’s neck and one to the feathery ridge on the parrot’s head. He can feel the way both Clifford and the bird push into the gloved palms of his hands and it has Zedaph’s heart warming up inside his chest, his smile widening a bit with it.

It is only once Clifford pulls back slightly, his eyes entirely on the blue feathered friend he seems to have found in the parrot sitting beside Zedaph’s head, his tongue lolled out and a dopey expression on his face, that Zedaph can attempt to push himself up, and yes, it is an attempt, a failed one at that, because he falls right back down on his back, groaning and bringing a hand to the back of his head, rubbing the sore spot there. An exhausted headache is making Zedaph’s vision blur and, he thinks, after remembering all that had happened over the past few days, maybe he deserves a nap. A good meal too, maybe, though the way his eyes can’t seem to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time take precedence over his stomach growling in Zedaph’s mind. 

Even more carefully than before, Zedaph does manage to get himself up this time around. He makes his way across the cave and heads for the bed situated close to the furnace contraption, fingers pulling at the hem of his cardigan as he does so. There’s a change of more comfortable clothes awaiting him at the edge of the bed and Zedaph doesn’t mind picking his current getup off of the floor once he is more rested, in the morning, seeing as he is too tired to actually find the energy to pick them up from where they manage to land and fold them, but the gloves do give him pause. 

Zedaph stops in front of his bed and looks down at his hands, the cloth now no longer concealing the golden texture stretched in spots and uneven surfaces across his palms, and he winces. They don’t seem to have changed, Zedaph concludes as he turns one hand this way and that, not just yet, but something still tugs at his thoughts. This is real, isn’t it? Zedaph sighs and grabs his sleeping clothes off of the bed, quickly pulling them on to attempt to shake the nauseating feeling that  _ that _ particular thought instills in him. With as ready to just curl up and sleep for a whole week Zedaph feels right now, he knows that he’d do best to not let any thoughts ingrain themselves too deeply into his logic, their own coherency shaky at best.

Before laying down on the heavenly looking mattress, Zedaph throws one more look at Clifford and the parrot, still sat on the ground next to the entrance, coos and clicks and soft barks and excited tail wagging being shared between the two of them. Zedaph hadn’t expected them to get along like this, but he is still looking at them with the same warm feeling from before, even as he all but sinks into his pillows the moment his head meets the cool, soft material of them. Zedaph’s last thought before falling asleep after a half successful effort in trying to cover himself with his blanket is that, if the parrot will have him and his overly friendly dog, which he already seems to have accepted, given the way he pecks at Clifford’s nose softly, he would like to keep them. 

Zedaph giggles quietly into his pillows and, for once, his mind is only filled with all the names he could choose for his parrot friend and all of the tricks that they probably wouldn’t actually do, but that Zedaph would reward with seedy treats regardless, instead of his usual spiraling thoughts and Zedaph can only bask in the affection his pets bring him as darkness envelops him.

* * *

_ It had been after a fight, the image of heavy blue eyes boring into him as he’d walked away, her words still ringing into his head like a broken melody, one filled with the acid of her own answers, distinct in his mind, that he found it. He left the tall columns that ended in elegantly sharp, crystal arches behind, the frozen waterfalls merely something he passed by as he ran past the winding halls. The vibrations of her stomping, angrily, as she went back to spinning her tapestry, probably, were something he flinched at and something he used to make his legs move beneath him even faster, the thick ice beneath his bare feet hurting less when he was moving. _

_ He had simply wanted to get away for a while and he knew that she couldn’t blame him for it, so he kept running, even as the surroundings of her palace melted into the forever dark skies that he could never help but hope to get lost into. It reminded him of home, of a place of love and safety, of another, kinder version of her, one that would hold him in the palm of her hand as she sang him to sleep, as she told him stories until the sky would turn light again, of the ones they’d lost when they’d left for this desolate purgatory, but he knew that it was no use to linger on the past, so he kept running, not in that moment at least. _

_ Gradually, the ice beneath his soles turned… Softer, somehow, not quite as hard or as restrictive, not quite as cold. He slowed down once he took notice, but kneeling down and brushing clawed fingers across the more textured surface of the ice, white veins that would contrast the dark blue in an almost mesmerising way, only served to leave him with wet stains on his trousers and a sour look. He flexed one of his hands, his eyes focused on the claws moving with his fingers, digging into the flesh of his palms as they did. He hadn’t noticed when they grew in, but in this moment, all it did was remind him of his situation, of the inherent danger of it that she couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t _ acknowledge, her response always consisting of “I’d rather change us than let  _ it _ do so.” _

_ He’d never understood it and he didn’t now, either, but as he stood up, face pulled in a tight expression, he couldn’t help but gasp slightly. Just in front of him, where the cracks grew even thicker and swirled just on the surface of the ice, smaller trails of it forming a webbing where the thicker ones met, he could see… Something. _

_ At first, he rubbed his eyes, though he didn’t dare make a sound, somehow afraid that she would hear him, despite how far away from her home he was, but that didn’t clear the must-be illusion from his sight, no, it seemed to make it even more obvious and he carefully stepped towards it. It was small, barely noticeable, but as he stopped right in front of it, his toes just on its edge, he couldn’t help the small gasp that left his lips uninhibited, not when he studied the  _ fissure _ in the ice. _

_ He’d seen cracks and he’d seen weak points in its surface, but never before had he seen an actual break in her ice and, as he leaned down, his eyes slowly adjusting to the slew of colours he could see on the other side, greens and browns and warm blues, yellows and reds and purples shaping a world so familiar to him and so different still, he gasped silently. It almost felt like he could climb down and fall into it, like if he reached hard enough he could touch it, but at the edge of what his vision could reveal, the shimmer of her magic remained true. _

_ Obviously, it was still a way out, but a barrier still remained between that world and theirs, the one they’d left behind one that they could never retrieve, not when the winds of change had affected it so, but he didn’t mind. He just wanted to leave. _

_ Something fluttered in his heart, something hurt and filled with the ache of guilt, but there was the edge of rage right there, in a different corner of his being, ready to soothe anything that would stop him from fleeing. _

_ He didn’t stick around for long after getting his first glimpse at the new world and, as his resolve hardened on his way back to her palace, he had to battle himself into stoic silence. Her magic was the only thing stopping him, her ice something he knew he could work on, especially if he already had a starting point in the break, but he had a plan. _

_ Walking down the long hallways again, her voice echoing around him in a painfully familiar song, he had to take a moment to breathe through the hurt, the conflict it provoked within him. His mind was made, but his heart was still struggling. _

_ Even so, he thought, tiredly, he could lick his wounds once he was out of here, once he was free.  _

_ If he survived her wrath. _

* * *

He would like to say that it had been the sharp sound of  _ something _ being ripped apart, shredded with precision that had woken him but, as he blinks the unwanted tears from his eyes and slowly, cautiously enough that the numbness of his limbs is somewhat forgotten, sits up. There’s a tightness in his chest that Zedaph cannot deny, even if, as soon as the haze of sleep is somewhat subdued by the chill of having only slept with the blanket half covering his body and, of course, the aches that come with it, he can better focus on that sound, whatever it is.

Zedaph winces as it starts again, but he doesn’t stand up fully yet, the dizziness something he considers as he merely swings his legs over the edge of the bed and blinks against his bleariness. He realises that it’s coming from his storage silo and, before he notices that his pets are no longer by the entrance or, rather, anywhere he could possibly see them, there’s the pinprick of fear that he can discern within himself at the thought of an intruder, which has him wondering, almost hopefully, if he is being subjected to a prank, the thought of another hermit visiting him making Zedaph feel oddly giddy, but then all of the details of his situation register. Zedaph comes to the conclusion that Clifford and the parrot are in his storage silo. Where he can hear the sound of things being ripped apart. And his pets are in his storage, where his chests of things are. And he can hear his things being shredded. And-

And Zedaph  _ jumps _ out of bed, almost stumbling and falling face first onto the floor as he sprints over to the central part of his cave, frowning a little as he imagines what chaos he might see when he peers over the edge of the silo.

It is both as bad as Zedaph imagine and not quite as because, as he leans over the stone walls of it, he sees Clifford, sitting on a barrel in the middle, happily chewing on a strip of what looks uncomfortably similar to one of Zedaph’s sweaters and he sees the blue parrot rummaging through his clothes and armoury chest, picking at articles of clothing, which they nod at before dropping on a growing pile on the floor that Clifford seems to be diligently working on, but also bits of diamond and metal forgery, which they simply drop back into the chest with a clang that has Zedaph feeling like his soul has just left his body.

It is with a flabbergasted sort of blubbering reluctance that Zedaph simply sighs a great, long sigh as he makes his way into the storage area. He pets Clifford and reaches for the piece of fabric caught between his fangs, though the big, innocent eyes quickly dissuade him, but at least Clifford appears to understand that maybe this isn’t necessarily the best thing for Zedaph to wake up to, even if Zedaph is sure this will become a good memory that he will laugh at someday, because he gets up and, after a nip at Zedaph’s hand that consists more so of slobber and a very wet, affectionate kiss, he leaves the silo and exits the cave through the backdoor, probably going on a walk in the woods back there.

And so, Zedaph is left with the main culprit of this whole series of shenanigans and, most likely, the mastermind behind the destruction of his clothes and the mishandling of his armour, the little blue bird looking straight at Zedaph, unashamed and bored, almost, just before they let out an all too smug chirp and take off in the direction of the great, white mass of fluff currently making his way through the back door.

Zedaph’s eye twitches as he sighs, heavily, and starts gathering the mess of clothes, most, if not all of them, ripped apart or at least clawed at, but there is something to be said about how the morning’s excitement manages to distract Zedaph from the lingering, dull ache that extends up his arms and from the fading memory of his dream, only a feeling of revelation and a blurry image of a lake of ice beneath a clear night sky remaining in his mind, which, considering the fact that we’d woken up crying, is something that Zedaph will see as a good distraction, if a bit of an unpleasant one.   
Still, he cannot hold onto any sort of more upsetting feelings, even as his back twinges from the chill as he bends down to pick up the mess and organise it, as best as he can into  _ completely unusable _ ,  _ useful material _ and _ maybe wearable _ piles on the floor. Soon enough, he is eating a golden apple that he’d kept for a special occasion but that, given his lack of any other food in his chests after the little raid his pets had organised, is truly the only thing he has left. It does taste good and Zedaph sits down amongst his piles of ripped garments as he lets the effects of the apple wash over him in gentle waves. Maybe it is precisely because of the apple or because he’s gotten some sleep, maybe even because of the love he holds for both of his pets already, but he feels more energised, better, somehow, and Zedaph doesn’t want to question his good mood.

He considers it for the barest of seconds as he takes another bite from the crunchy, golden skin of the apple, but once the thought of going to the COwmmercial District to get some wool that isn’t distinctly green, maybe even some dyes, crosses his mind, the decision seems to already be made and, for the first time in a series of days spent cooped up in his cave, all alone with his worries, or lately, mostly in his head even when he’s been around others, Zedaph feels at ease, if for a moment, similarly to how he’d felt when he’d hung out with Cleo or when Xisuma had comforted him. Maybe he’ll even see some of the other hermits. Zedaph smiles as he finishes his apple and begins searching for a mostly complete set of clothes, not even noticing the speckles of gold having spread up his arms a little bit, reaching for his elbows now, rather than his wrists.

But,  _ gods _ , he’s missed feeling like… Well, like  _ himself _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more lore? more lore.


	13. Fair Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps, and Zedaph only realises this once the deed is done, going to the Cowmmercial District ain't a particularly good idea, not when his heart is but a traitor beating in his chest, pushing his feelings where they cannot go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually fairly happy with this chapter, even if there's no lore or bigger plot progression but hehe pining go brrr :>

He makes sure that his pets are doing fine first and, judging by the birds he can see flying into the sky like scattered beads across the grey of it, the sound of loud, happy barking that he can distantly hear coming from the forest near the small farms at the back of his cave accompanying it, Zedaph is quite sure that they’ll be fine. With how close Clifford already seems to be to his little parrot friend, there’s no doubt in Zedaph’s mind that they’ll most certainly both just end up chasing whatever can run amongst the trees before falling into a heap of white fur and blue feathers, probably on Zedaph’s bed, but he doesn’t mind. Still, Zedaph leaves a small, wooden cup filled to the brim with seeds, a plate of meat for Clifford next to it and a larger bowl of water. There’s a dismissive air to the way he ignores the small tears in his cardigan as he puts his gloves on, but Zedaph doesn’t plan for this trip to be a long one. He can repair most of his clothes by himself, but if worse comes to worst, he’ll just message some of the other hermits that he knows as being better taylors than he himself is.

Soon enough, with a hopeful smile and a sigh at the still cool weather, Zedaph is embarking on his boat, conveniently left on the shore last night, and prepares himself for a few hours of rowing. 

Being less tired, however, the trip doesn’t seem quite as long as he’d anticipated, especially with the ocean being as calm as he is, for now. Some flittering thoughts about his dreams do enter his head, but Zedaph mostly takes them with a grain of salt, even as he glances at his gloves. There’s the question of how long he’ll be able to keep this particular change from the others, but it isn’t the oddest thing to have happened among them, even if Zedaph has a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t about something new happening right now, but rather, a different issue reemerging. Zedaph is sure that Xisuma wouldn’t go about sharing what Zedaph had entrusted him with, he’s just not that kind of man, but somehow, he still feels a bit more secretive about this.

Even so, with a clearer head, the whole situation doesn’t seem quite as overwhelming anymore. Maybe it is the emotional distance or literally just a better mood, but Zedaph does’t question it. He keeps on rowing and huffing a little when he feels the boat being rocked by the currents the deep underwater ravines with their magma flooring cause, but all in all, Zedaph reaches the Cowmmercial District without any major trouble.

There’s a smile fighting on Zedaph’s face as, though they appear more like blurs of colour streaking across the clouded sky, some other hermits fly about the different shops and buildings, some probably only passing by spawn on their way to another location, most likely, so he simply drags his boat and allows it to rest under one of the few remaining giant mushrooms of the island.

Zedaph pats the pinkish mycelium dust off of his trousers but, as he glances up to have a better look at all of the shops and builds and little changes, he cannot help but gape. He takes it in, all of the new structures and, in some places, even new terraforming, as though he’d never seen it before and, in part, Zedaph ponders almost guiltily, he  _ hadn’t _ . It’s been awhile since he’d actually seen the Cowmmercial District, for that matter, and Zedaph doesn’t really have anyone but himself and his own overthinking ways to blame.    
Slowly, eyes still trailing on the edges of the builds before him with a sparkling sort of fascination, Zedaph starts walking towards the cluster of the builds, his feet meeting the mismatched paths of the District, grass lining its edges in some places, mycelium in others.

Oddly enough, there are all sorts of posters lining the walls of the shops he passes by, of which he only recognises some due to remembering their owners’ announcement of their openings in the chat, but for some reason, Zedaph can only vaguely remember some discussions about a sort of mayoral campaign happening. He’d thought it a joke, half dead to the world as he’d been, but it seems quite a bit bigger than just any old prank. There’s the guilt again for having missed more recent developments, but Zedaph just shakes his head.

He studies all of the buildings he can see scattered across the island, searching for a particularly colourful roof and white concrete suppprt pillars. Zedaph has to gulp a little as he thinks about the two owners of said shop and how excited they had seemed when they’d notified the others that they’d also be selling wool and dye alongside their coloured concrete, but another firm shake of his head and a bit of his own palms slapping his face, despite that action not really aiding in removing the pink tint of his cheeks, manages to help Zedaph bring himself back in line. Seemingly.    
There is something that shifts just beneath his ribs, however, as Zedaph makes his way over to Colour Complete, the not too big, but definitely nicely built structure coming into view, the clean lines of it admirable in their own right, and Zedaph doesn’t want to call it what it is, but the thought of two pairs of eyes, red and almost glowing with their intensity and warm, kind brown, the image of them flashing in his mind, it feels like a callout to Zedaph’s own internalised lies. Gods, he’s missed Impulse and Tango.

Admitting it, even as Zedaph finally reaches the doors, eyeing the pressure plates in front of it a bit suspiciously, feels liberating, a bit, but it doesn’t make the longing or the guilt any less palpable, so Zedaph just lets it be, letting his shoulders drop and shoving his hands in his pockets, as he finally steps on one of the pressure plates and watches as the metal door opens.

And then the floor begins shifting. 

It is with a small scream that Zedaph jumps back, flailing like a chicken chased by a particularly hungry fox, falling on his bottom just outside the shop. The loud sound of redstone pistons and machinery at work continues on for a good moment longer but, as Zedaph gets back up on shaky knees, a new sound can be heard just behind him. Looking at the floor reveals that it had gone from its original surface to a multicoloured array of strips running across it, but Zedaph puts his own amazement at how that sort of machinery might work on the backburner as he turns on his heels. 

His heart had already been beating wildly in his chest due to the floor scare, but as Zedaph’s gaze lands on the slightly further away figure of a laughing Tango, to say that it begins racing in his chest becomes a bit of a mild understatement.

“Zed,  _ oh my- _ ”, Tango tries to wheeze through his booming laughter, but he doubles over with his amusement, babbling incoherently for a bit longer before straightening himself, clutching his own stomach, “Oh, that was great!”

Zedaph crosses his arms over his chest, in part to fit with the displeased act he is trying to put up, squinting and pouting as he watches Tango make his way up to the front of the shop, in part to maybe get his overly frantic heart to slow down. It’s just Tango, he tells himself. His heart rate seems to pick up even more at that, however.

“Why, hello there, Tango”, Zedaph says in the most flat voice he can muster, turning back towards the door, eyes fixed on the rainbow floor. He hesitates there, unsure if stepping on the pressure plate when it’s like this would affect something in the redstone, but Zedaph can feel Tango stepping closer behind him, breaking a few blocks next to iron doors.

He turns his head in time to catch red eyes staring at him with a teasing, affectionate sort of glint in them, to which Zedaph puffs and shakes his head, but Tango smirks and points at the temporary entrance to the shop he’s just made.

”Wouldn’t want to scare you again, now would I?”

Zedaph raises an eyebrow, but it’s getting harder to reign his own smile in, so he merely goes ahead and enters the shop, the corners of his lips involuntarily pulling up into an overly fond little grin once he is out of Tango’s sight.

Soon enough, Tango follows suit and, after he places an arm around Zedaph’s shoulder, leaning into him with his full weight, which, were it not for how Zedaph uses one of the chests lining the walls to stabilise himself, could have lead to a very unfortunate mess of Tango and Zedaph sprawled all over the floor.

“Uh huh, keep making jokes like that, mister Tango, see where that gets you”, Zedaph mumbles, but he knows that Tango can tell he is joking. Mostly.

Even as Zedaph pulls away in order to face his friend, forcing his brain to focus on literally everything but how nice Tango’s face looks when he is smiling like he is, crookedly and with a hint of mischief in the line of his lips, he cannot help the warm, fuzzy feeling that seeing him again after some time brings him.

“I think I’ll try my luck”, Tango ends up responding, bringing a hand to Zedaph’s shoulder and clapping him on it a few times, firmly, but not too roughly. Zedaph is quite grateful, because his knees feel a bit like jelly. Inside his own head, he slaps a bit of sense into himself and, before he can allow his face to get any redder, Zedaph just turns to look at the rows of chests instead of the ruby red of Tango’s eyes or the messy tumble of his hair or-

Zedaph sighs, internally.

“Well!”, Zedaph exclaims, putting as much energy into that single word in the hopes of making sure Tango doesn’t suspect anything as he can, “I hear you sell a variety of colourful items, my dear friend Tango.”

There’s the sound of steps and then Tango is walking ahead of him, arms spread as if to showcase all of the chests, a certain giddiness to him. 

“We sure do. For a certain _ price _ , that is”, Tango turns to face Zedaph, patting the last chests at the back of the shop, probably already imagining a whole number of ways in which he could get more diamonds out of Zedaph than-

Zedaph freezes in his mental tracks, eyes wide and staring into nothingness, his mouth a thin line. It makes Tango stop as well, confusion making him raise an eyebrow before he rests a hand on his hip. Zedaph gulps and looks off to his right. A nervous laugh bubbles up in his throat and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck with one gloved hand before he brings both hands behind his back, his stomach churning a bit uncomfortably. He can still feel Tango’s eyes on him.

Zedaph forgot about the diamonds,  _ who goes shopping without any currency on them _ , but not only had he forgotten to bring what little he has stashed away at his base with him, he doesn’t, and it starts sounding more and more stupid the longer Zedaph thinks about it, he  _ doesn’t _ keep his diamonds in his ender chest, because he’s a bit of an idiot like that.

“See, Tango, my dear,  _ dear _ friend, so we may… Or may  _ not _ have a bit of a situation on our hands”, Zedaph confesses in a small voice, curling in on himself a bit, his guilt doubling inside his own brain. There’s a curious sound from Tango, but before Zedaph can open his mouth to speak again, Tango's laughter fills the room again, breaking a bit of the tension as it all but shatters the silence. Zedaph looks up and he has to swallow around the knot settled firmly in his throat at the sight Tango makes like this, obviously amused, a bit flushed from his laughter, the strong line of his shoulders shaking with his cackling. Zedaph thinks about how beautiful Tango is and he wants to hurl himself right into the ocean, maybe to cool his head, maybe because  _ this _ is what he is after and, of course, Zedaph’s belief that someone like Tango would never  _ love _ , at least,  _ not like that _ , someone like him is reinforced with it. Still, he giggles along with Tango, even if the noise is a bit more quiet, subdued. 

“Lemme guess, no diamonds on you, buddy?”, Tango asks and Zedaph just looks away with guilt, though some of it is slightly played up to cover the bittersweet nature of his current thoughts, his hands fiddling with the seams of the gloves behind his back. The laughter dies down, ending with a fond sigh from Tango as he reaches out and grabs Zedaph by the shoulders, their eyes locking together for a moment. Zedaph hardens his resolve, deciding that he should just enjoy the company of his friend for now, the last time he’d seen him having turned out to be a bit of a less comfortable memory for Zedaph, and, instead of looking away, he smiles at Tango, albeit, a bit shakily. 

“I’m afraid not”, Zedaph says with a small chuckle of his own. Tango looks at him in silence for a moment and Zedaph wonders if he too remembers the last time they’d seen each other, because the memory of the cold and of the fear he’d felt makes Zedaph’s skin rise up in goosebumps, even if he doesn’t show it.

Tango keeps not saying anything and Zedaph just shakes his head with a sigh.

“I guess I shall go back to my base and return if your cash-grab schemes are to work”, Zedaph ends up saying and, though the thought of saying goodbye to Tango who, no doubt, has his own business to attend to and whom Zedaph will probably not see again upon returning, not today at least, and the thought of going all the way back to his base is all but inviting, Zedaph still smiles and pats Tango’s hands where they still rest on his shoulders.

Tango’s attention flitters to the gloves on his hands and, before Zedaph can even think of an answer to give to the questioning look in his eyes, Tango hums thoughtfully.

“Say… What if I made you a special offer?”

Zedaph tilts his head to the side. Apprehension sets in when Tango’s grin turns all the toothier, his eyes sparkling with whatever idea is going through his head right now. Zedaph disregards his less than trusting thoughts, fully aware that Tango’s plans always end up being a lot of fun, even if they are ridiculous or, in this case, suspicious, and just looks at Tango with wide, inquisitive eyes.

“Special offer?”

Tango seems to sputter a bit when Zedaph leans a little closer, but then he clears his throat and, in the most official and business-like voice, he says:   
“Very special, indeed! I could go for an IOU, but say… Why don’t we get a bit more specific?”

It is Zedaph’s turn to stutter a bit and turn red as he realises how close they actually are, but he subtly blames it on the coughing fit he oh so conveniently happens to experience just as Tango finishes saying that. He can hear Tango laugh as he tries to get his lungs working again, even though Zedaph feels how hot his face is, but after one last steadying breath, he turns to look back at Tango.

“And… What would you want for a bit of white wool and some dye, then?”, Zedaph asks as evenly as he can manage, which isn’t very, especially as Tango keeps smirking as he walks towards some of the chests, gathering a collection of items in his arms, whistling just beneath his breath as he does so and Zedaph feels like he is about ready to faint. This whole encounter is not good for his heart and yet, he wouldn’t trade it for anything, he has  _ missed _ Tango’s presence, even if it hurts to be around him, just a little bit.

Zedaph loses focus for a moment and, as a shadow falls over him, he blinks and looks up at Tango, then at the requested items, then back up at Tango, at his beautiful red eyes, at his lopsided, yet somehow warm grin. It makes Zedaph want to melt then and there, but instead, he bites his lips and tries to smile too as he reaches out with his hands in order for Tango to deposit the wool and dye in his arms. Tango looks down for a second, an odd, almost glazed over look in his eyes but then he seems to snap himself out of it and, with a nod and a bit of a tighter expression, yet still a happy one, he hands Zedaph all of the items, watching silently as he packs them up for the trip back home, but Zedaph takes advantage of how distracted Tango seems to be all of a sudden, his brows slightly furrowed, even if he knows he will absolutely beat himself up over it later, and he studies his profile, the cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the yellow gleam of his hair.

Tango looks back to Zedaph and, when he is caught looking, Zedaph simply averts his eyes and plays with the buckle of his pack, even if, at the edge of his vision, he manages to make out the small smile on Tango’s face. He probably thinks Zedaph is just being his odd self and Zedaph wants to keep it that way. It is when Zedaph opens his mouth to ask his friend, once more, what price he should pay, that Tango’s communicator buzzes.

Zedaph watches curiously as Tango takes the little device out and reads over the message he must have gotten. Zedaph feels the way his heart softens because he thinks he knows who’d sent the message, at least, judging from how Tango’s eyes go all sorts of lovey dovey, his cheeks pinking slightly and his fangs peeking through his barely controlled smile. He wants to ask Tango how Impulse is doing, but then Tango’s face falls with a hint of disappointment. Instead, Zedaph frowns a little and asks, worry quite audible in his tone:

“Everything alright?”

Tango lets out a long sigh and straightens himself, rolling his shoulders back before he glances at Zedaph with an apologetic face.

“Impulse wanted me to go help him with some guardian business, but I already have plans for tomorrow, is all”, he explains, waving his hand in the air, but Zedaph can tell Tango would have liked to spend some more time with his boyfriend. They all get a bit distant sometimes, so Zedaph isn’t surprised, not in the least, considering  _ everything _ , but even so, he still reaches out and, softly, pats Tango on his shoulder. Red eyes widen all too suddenly, as if something has just occurred to him, and Zedaph takes a step back as that intense look is fixed on him.

“So what if, as payment, you help Impy? I’m sure guardian transportification could use another set of… Hands”, he trails off as his eyes fall on the gloves again, but before Tango can even open his mouth again, Zedaph is taking one of his hands in both of his and shaking it with an almost uncomfortably wide smile on his face.

“Zed-”

“Done and done! Thank you for your kindness, my dear friend Tango”, Zedaph says with a small bow and, without another second of hesitation, he is out the door, leaving a confused Tango behind him as he rushes for his boat. It may not be the most polite of greetings, but Zedaph’s brain is mush and he isn’t sure he could lie convincingly if Tango were to ask about the gloves, so of course, escape seems to be the best idea for the moment.

Although, a part of Zedaph hopes that Tango will chase after him, if only to force Zedaph to reveal what he is hiding because, on his own, he isn’t sure he is brave enough to do so and the pressure of keeping up a facade is getting to him,  _ again _ . Alas, that would be quite selfish and Zedaph doesn’t want to pin his own troubles on other people, not any more than he already has. With a slow sigh, Zedaph reaches his boat and drags it out into the open ocean, his thoughts just barely kept a hair’s width away from the mental image of Tango’s slightly shocked face. Somehow, and Zedaph isn’t sure how yet, he’ll have to keep himself from thinking about Tango and Impulse on his way home but, as the realisation that he’ll have to help Impulse tomorrow with  _ moving guardians, _ of all things sinks in, Zedaph all but crumbles into his boat with a groan.

He takes a moment to gather himself. He can do this. He can keep his problems to himself and he can  _ continue _ keeping his feelings to himself.

**Can you, though?**

Zedaph purses his lips and starts rowing, then.


	14. Shifting Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph rants about the situation he finds himself in to his pets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand... That's it. My buffer is exhausted. Perhaps I should have waited until I had another chapter written to post it because, with school and life being as they are, who knows when I'll have timeto write :'>  
> Still, it's been a hot minute since the last update

“Well, I couldn’t just say no, Cliff!”, Zedaph explains, gesturing with a hand towards Clifford, who is sitting down somewhere in the storage silo, on top of a particularly wide bamboo cage, the blue bird kept within it giving Zedaph a flat stare even if he doesn’t look at them, his other hand connecting redstone circuits up mindlessly, the logistics behind it simple enough that it leaves his mind free to wander, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. Zedaph  _ is _ alone, now, though, and he cannot quite get it off of his mind, this whole day, no matter how much he tries, so he decides to talk to himself, or rather, his pets, but he knows they may not really be listening. Still, the company is nice and, before saying anything else, throwing one last weary glance at the water barely kept away from the redstone components, Zedaph sighs.

“After all, he  _ did _ give me those goodies for free”, Zedaph reasons, but even as he gets up, brushing the stone dust off of his trousers and pressing a button to his latest contraption, or rather, a module of it, he almost startles back as an armour stand jumps up, though that is precisely what he should have expected to happen, had he believed his redstone would actually work. He can still hear the incredibly flat sounding squawk the parrot lets out, though, which Clifford accompanies with a, surely well-meant, little bark, but Zedaph laughs at their antics. He walks over to his chests, content that, after dressing up the armour stands and pushing them back down into their holes, he will be able to call the contraption finished.

In a way, Zedaph thinks he should be thankful for the bird’s demeanour proving to be a bit more chaotic than he’d first realised because he really needed this, doing something like this, accomplishing even a simple contraption such as a few well hidden closets at the edges of his storage area, and, as he looks at them, purple eyes warm despite the lopsided grin on his face, he wonders if they are smarter than they let on. Their eyes still suggest that they are judging Zedaph, but Clifford manages to sneak his muzzle through the bamboo bars, a wet kiss enough to make them coo with their offense even as they gently pinch at whatever they can reach of Clifford.

And yet, Zedaph cannot help but remember what other things the destruction of his clothes had led to.

His face reddens slightly as he remembers his encounter with Tango, which is, at least partly, the source of Zedaph’s strife right now, but he tries to focus less on how beautiful his eyes are and how much Zedaph had felt like he would melt into the ground when he looked at him with a warm gaze and, instead, he wrestles with his thoughts until he remembers precisely why he had been rambling on and on in front of his pets while working on his closets. This time, his sigh is much more a result of an inner frustration with himself and a red-faced irony that Zedaph doesn’t find too funny right now, his heart beating almost painfully hard against his ribs. Zedaph, armed with clothes, some freshly patched together, other mostly threads until Zedaph can get himself to actually ask someone for some patterning help, finally goes back to the closets and, this time, when he presses the button, he is a bit less surprised by the sudden appearance of all twelve of the armour stands, even if he will deny any sort of surprised noise, were anyone to have accidentally misheard something.

“...And so I’m helping Impulse out”, Zedaph mutters as he drapes what he has onto the wooden forms, rolling his eyes at the responding chirp, the parrot sounding distinctly disappointed, “He’s my friend, though...”

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his face as he steps back from the last armour stand, hands fiddling with a loose string at the hem of its brown sweater, the golden colour of his hands momentarily forgotten as Zedaph all but melts with the warm feeling suddenly alight where, just minutes prior, only a sense of franticness had flittered about.

The smile sours, ever so slightly, though it doesn’t fall completely, when Zedaph remembers a similar thought he’d had quite some time back. He blinks and, before melancholy can truly unravel its tendrils around him, he presses the buttons that allow the stands to fall away from sight and away from little parrot claws. There may be an indignant clicking noise from the blue parrot and the sound of Clifford slobbering them up with yet another one of his kisses, but Zedaph is already lost to it, his feet subconsciously walking him over to the bamboo cage. Clifford jumps up and into Zedaph’s lap, nuzzling at his cheek as Zedaph sits down right next to the cage, opening the top of it and laughing softly as the parrot flies out and lands onto his knees, which are pulled up to Zedaph’s chest. Curling into a tight ball with Clifford and the parrot sounds just about right, in this very moment, so Zedaph closes his eyes and breathes in, deeply, slowly.

When he’d fallen in love with his best friends, it had been a slow process. He hadn’t been able to tell, at the time, when the love for his friends grew into something more, well, not something  _ more _ , really, something  _ different _ , or when his eyes started lingering, when he started yearning for their touches and for their smiles more than he longed for a breeze on a hot day, and Zedaph has to ask himself, even now, if they had ever noticed anything odd in his behaviour before he had been wise enough to it to start hiding it. Had Tango ever wondered why Zedaph would sometimes watch him instead of helping him work on his redstone like he’d promised, Zedaph’s only viable excuse being his own lack of proper skills, had Impulse ever found the way he clinged to him after their hugs weird?

It had happened in the world prior to this, just at the start, before he had even decided what to do, what sort of base to build or what sort of objective he would follow, because he’d met them at spawn. In the time between worlds, a few more relationships had solidified around him and, as he watched some of the other hermits orbiting around their significant others, he couldn’t help but cheer for them, in his head, happy for their own glee and just glad to see his friends smiling with eachother. His eyes had, almost of their own accord, landed on Tango and Impulse and Zedaph had  _ understood _ , finally, what he himself might have been, for a longer while than he knew, longed for.

But Tango and Impulse had been together since before Zedaph could remember meeting them, before he could remember… Anything, really.

Gods, he still loves them though, even if he had tried to wish his feelings out of existence, even if he is so happy for them, happy that they love each other, because they’re  _ good _ for one another, they fit and Zedaph cannot even think about them apart, he still-

There’s a beak picking at a rougher patch of denim on his knee and it draws Zedaph out of his memories. He opens his eyes. Clifford’s soft fur is pressed into his side, comfortingly, but the parrot looks at him like they know something, like they understand, the gleam in their eyes almost warm. Zedaph smiles, even if it hurts a little, and brings a finger to their little chin, scratching gently. The fleeting thought that he’d never given them an official name hits him and Zedaph’s eyes widen.

His brain is still a bit slower, lacking in focus at the moment, but there is a small idea at the back of his head, one he’d been passively considering ever since the blue parrot had decided to stick around. He looks into their eyes and continues gently smiling at them, brows pinched together with the aftermath of his recollections, but they lean into the finger that is now slowly tracing the feathers of a folded together wing. Their eyes are slowly drifting shut but before they can actually doze off from the soft petting, Zedaph murmurs it into the still air, his other hand moving into Clifford’s fur, scratching behind one perked up ear, feeling the way the dog melts into his touch, which almost melts Zedaph’s heart in return.

“Hydrangea. My little Hydra...”

They perk up at the sound of that and give his finger a loving bite, which makes Zedaph laugh, eyes closing with the small moment of glee. Clifford yaps at that, tail wagging behind him, and Zedaph wraps his whole arm around him, pulling him even closer, relishing in the comfort his pets bring him. Gold hands and impossible loves seem less important when he has this, when he knows that he  _ still _ has his two best friends, when Zedaph remembers he has the hermits and he has this wonderful community around him.

Zedaph doesn’t want to give this up.

When Zedaph finally heads for bed, both Hydrangea and Clifford cuddled up to him, he hopes for fitful sleep, but alas, it isn't a choice he gets to make.

* * *

_ The memory of their home was as hazy as the world they had transitioned to, but he could still see traces of it in the firmament above and below their feet and in the wide arches of the hallways, no matter what she would claim about their old home being dead, a corrupted wasteland. He knew, yet he couldn’t help but remember it still. _

_ It had been like nothing he had ever seen before, it had been the first thing he had known. They’d been happy there, until… _

_ When they’d left, something much darker had enveloped the landscape and they had been alone. Where the others had gone, he still didn’t know, even as he stared out at the vastness of the glittering night sky, her magic braided into its very fabric, the ice below it a mirror painted over with the little sparks and wisps of energy and light. Still, he remembered something brighter, perhaps someplace free, he remembered a time when she would carry him around in the palm of her hand, eyes meeting his with warmth glimmering in them, the others fussing over how he would find his way in their world. He had been younger at that time, even smaller than he is now, but he had understood one thing. Love. Maybe… _

_ Then it had gone dark, in a single night, with a shouted warning, and they had been gone, just like that, as if their flames had been extinguished. She still hadn’t known anger then, but the dangerous voice she used held plenty of fear instead as she awoke him. Her hands had been cold when she whisked him away and she had told him not to look behind, had pleaded this one mercy for his own sake, but he had. He still regretted it. _

_ Crystal towers and waterfalls of pure mist had, in an instant, crumbled down and turned to molten ash and shade, something below it all struggling to break free, to emerge and to bring life anew. That is what he had thought, but she had been terrified, wide, blue-purple eyes looking on as though it had struck her down, but she was still walking on, robes billowing behind her, hair caught in what he would later come to know as wind.  _

_ He had looked up at her once his mind had stuttered its way to a halt, the imagery too much, but a sharp pain had made him look down again. Fire where there had never been any had engulfed him. He tucked his hands into the loose folds of his clorgesy, knowing the mark it had left on him, on his entire frame, would never go away. _

_ She hadn’t been affected as quickly, her skin still shimmering with her usual cold pallor, though, above her eyes, it had still scarred her too. Sometimes, he thought the change was beautiful, but he would never tell her that, not when she mourned his own, the way he would stand out against the azure of the palace’s walls bringing that same pain as the one he had seen when they’d left back into her eyes. _

_ “A tragedy”, she would call it, even now, “a change”, the warning voice had uttered, and change it had been, still was. As the days passed, encompassed though they were in her magic and in her ice and her darkness, she grew cool and he grew distant still, not just because he wanted to reject her, but because he felt the control slipping from his grasp, drip, dripping down into the void he couldn’t see because of the mirror of ice below their feet, but he couldn’t tell her that. _

_ He curled into a ball, alone in one of the tallest towers. Whatever change had started when they’d left, it had grown corrupted by her own rage, by her own isolation, and all he could do was ponder how to escape it, where to go and how to adapt to it. He could still remember whispers of an old friend of hers and he remembered how she had been even bigger than her, let alone him, tall and grand and powerful, magic on every touch of her fingertips, but she had talked of magic cloaking them against it, against the change.  _

_ He wondered if she had escaped as they had, if she had managed to stop it from affecting her, or if she had melded into the different world under a different name, in a different shape. He wondered if that would be better. _

_ But he knew his situation was different, had felt different even back then, but if he were to live amongst them, amongst the creatures the world now housed, he would have to change once more, perhaps become like them. He asked himself if she would ever lend him some of her own magic, but it was with a deep sigh that he realised, no. She wouldn’t budge, not when her corruption had started affecting her, turning her bitter, turning her  _ vengeful _ , he would have to take the magic himself, would have to hide from her watchful eyes, would have to find a way. _

_ The image of the crack was clear in his mind, of the new world beyond it, but so was a memory of the both of them, a long time ago, when her heart had still known warmth, when he had still found a home in her hands, in her love. _ _  
_ _ That was no longer the case. _

_ Tonight, he decided, he’d do it tonight. _

_ There was the urgency of the growing fire within him that motivated him, perhaps, the flames of it burning at his own mind, making him lose himself, making him turn monstrous, and he could only hope that the corruption would stop affecting him once he left, but it still hurt. The decision already made, however, was not something he could bring himself to overlook for the sake of a temporary pain that, in the end, would bring about his destruction. _

* * *

Zedaph wakes up, but he isn’t in his bed this morning, and if that isn’t enough of a chin scratcher, the fact that he is leaning against the metal door leading to the Cave of Contraptions,  _ outside _ of the actual cave, sure is. Zedaph isn’t necessarily sure if he’s ever sleepwalked before, but Hydrangea is sitting on his chest, a little sleeping ball of blue feathers and soft, clicking snores, so some of his worry eases, despite the uneasiness whatever he can still remember of his dream leaves him with.

Zedaph shakes his head gently, so as to not wake Hydrangea from where they coo in their sleep, but there’s a void in his chest that the longing from his dream attempts to fill. He cannot quite remember the circumstances, but the feeling is clear enough that Zedaph almost feels as though it were real. The sun is barely above the horizon, the air of the desert still cold around him and, before Zedaph can catch a cold, though it may be inevitable, the amount of time between when he’d moved from his bed and now not something he is sure of, he stands up very slowly, cradling Hydrangea in his arms.

He feels a bit restless, now, but at least he isn’t tired, Zedaph muses as he makes his way back into the cave, his free hand slipping his communicator out of his pocket and checking over the details of his and Impulse’s meeting for the day. With the Water Closets Contraption finished and the somewhat peaceful mood he can feel slowly returning, Zedaph thinks today might not be too bad after all, he hopes so at least. He really can’t wait to see Impulse, even if his face colours in shame at the thought of him, but that’s neither here nor there.

Clifford bounces around him once he makes his way into the cave, running between his feet, almost making Zedaph trip, but other than the click of his clawed paws against the stone floor, he is silent, so Zedaph smiles fondly and bends down to pet him. He sniffs at Hydrangea, but doesn’t wake them up with a kiss, which Zedaph receives instead, before he runs off to the back door, definitely all ready to go run his blessed little heart out. Zedaph is smiling even after Clifford is gone, but one glance at the parrot in his arms tells him that Hydrangea still hasn’t woken up, so he walks over to the bed and lays them down in the messy nest of sheets he helps shape with one clumsy hand, but given the way they breathe out quietly, content to keep on sleeping for a bit, Zedaph thinks he probably did a good enough job. He lays out some food and water for his pets and looks for his gloves.

Zedaph’s mood deflates somewhat at the way the yellow specks have grown, covering his entire hands and, as Zedaph changes into outside clothes, parts of his arms as well. He hadn't noticed and it’s not a reassuring sight, but at least he’s not felt too numb or pained lately, so Zedaph shoves his gloves on, making sure that the cardigan’s sleeves cover the small strip of coloured skin showing at his wrists.

He shoots Impulse a message telling him that he is on his way towards the Cowmmercial District right now, trying to get his mind off of the steadily growing worse condition of this  _ thing _ , though Zedaph still has no idea exactly what it is, and he wonders, not for the last time, if getting an elytra might be a bit more beneficial than not. 

Zedaph doesn’t notice how a particularly low, barely audible humming noise that he’s been hearing for days now stops when he puts some distance between himself and his base until it happens, but when it does, Zedaph is too preoccupied trying to find a subject his mind could settle on without spiraling downwards with either panic or guilt, which proves a lot more difficult than it would seem. An enchanting table contraption seems to do the trick, Zedaph wondering how he could have gone for weeks, if not months already without one. The journey to the Cowmmercial District doesn’t seem all that long when he wonders how he could possibly make enchanting more complicated than it already is, but somewhere behind conscious thought, he does wonder if the sound he's been hearing means anything. By now he has enough practice ignoring what his mind is trying to latch onto for fear of any realisation bringing him down that dark road that he's been avoiding going back to, still, Zedaph knows not acknowledging it is not a worthwhile solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid to say it might be a while until the next chapter arrives, what with aforementioned problems, but for questions and I guess any sort of interaction or extra content, you can find me on my art blog nothoughtsonlybees.tumblr.com  
> until next time <3


	15. From the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something seem to be wrong. Zedaph meets up with Impulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, i managed to write this mostly while doing laundry, hope ya enjoy a little tenseness in the beginning and then some pining :>

By the time False manages to finally get the wall to look like she wants it too, the frame little more than a placeholder for the actual structure, the world is already fully submerged beneath the dark fabric of the star bejewelled night sky, the sun having set perhaps too many hours ago, swallowed by the sea that now expands into shadows, only a thin sliver of moon illuminating the world around her where torch and lantern light doesn’t quite reach. Even so, she knows that phantoms could spawn any minute now, just as she knows how much weaker she is like this, how her guard, though still on high alert, cannot quite account for everything when she is as tired as she feels now, so instead of lingering, False shoots off into the sky to throw one more look at the framework of the structure. Its purpose is little more than balancing the build, and she smiles, a smirk pulling at one corner of her lips, when, from afar, it seems to do its job as well as she’d imagined it. She takes a moment to asses the whole situation of her base as the wind makes her shudder, eve so slightly, but really, the chill that goes down her spine is worth it when she takes in the sprawling, geometrical shapes, the way stone had given into hours upon hours of digging and, in some cases, TNT, she remembers with a fond little chuckle.

False is about to fly down when she sees it, ready to call it a night and get as much rest as she can before a new escapade into the newer Nether quadrants the other hermits had found themselves exploring these past few weeks during their, perhaps too brave, trips into the fiery dimensions of this world’s underworld. At first, False has to wonder if it is a trick of the limited light, perhaps her own breath fogging her vision as warm air clashes with the cold night or if, maybe, it is a mob of a different variety, but the figure, whatever it is, is unmoving, just a small, glowing dot hiding itself amongst the tall grass and, despite being far away enough that she cannot even make out any distinct details about it, anything other than the golden shimmer of what reminds her of enchanted gold armour eluding her, False frowns, something uncomfortable moving in her stomach, the weight of it almost dragging her down, were it not for the rocket she shoots to get, as subtly as she can, closer to it.

The temperature seems to drop and False has never felt more…. Not in her place before, as if this were something that she should not bear witness to, something dangerous, something that False should not be approaching, but she is, and at great speeds too. For a fraction of a second, tacticality and pure curiosity argue in her mind, and she almost does, shoot a rocket and fly away from its approaching form, swerving back to her base, that is, but before she even has time to get a rocket out of her pack, with a gust of glacial wind and an almost hum like quality to the air current, it disappears, just like that.

False blinks, spreading her wings behind her to slow her ascent to a gentle gliding.

There’s something almost....  _ Terrifying _ about the whole experience, but with it gone, once False stands alone in the high grass, looking out into sprawling fields, catching glimpses of Tango’s base into the distance, the feeling of something being so very not right goes with it and it feels like she can breathe again, even as she shivers. She hadn’t been cold before but, and False almost wants to ask a question aloud at the realisation, she sure is now. 

Her mind is clearer now, though, and False wonders if she might have just seen a golden armour-wearing mob, perhaps a zombie of sorts, glitching out. She is aware that monsters can disappear into the shadows, that their mother is the night and that the only thing other than sunlight which grants them to slip back into her embrace is distance, but she’d been  _ approaching _ it, not….

False shakes her head, brows furrowed.Her next breath comes with a sigh as she cards a hand through her blonde hair and drags it over one shoulder.

_ A glitching mob _ , she reassures herself, taking off again, heading straight for her own sleeping area and, if she checks that it is completely sealed off and lit up before she can actually find it in her to change and slip into bed, that is her own problem. 

A fleeting thought of telling Xisuma won’t leave her mind, however, and, so, just before actually drifting off, the creepy feeling from before having now been pushed onto the backburner, False decides that she will send one message telling Xisuma about a possible glitch in case it affects farms or other players or anything of the sort and nothing more. It wouldn’t be the first time the magic of one of their worlds would react weirdly, but it’s usually never a repeat experience and the memory of an almost tragic incident that had almost taken a few of their own from them before they’d managed to make their way back, years ago, worlds ago, leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but not all glitches are that bad, and False knows that.

Perhaps it will be easier to believe once she has had some sleep and the image of it, just standing there, watching her, unmoving,  _ unforgiving _ , will have faded from before her eyes.

Morning cannot come quick enough, afterwards, but False finds it easier to get back to her own chores and jobs and planned events for the day once she is slipping her communicator back into her pocket, Xisuma’s reassurance that he will keep an eye out, just in case, easing some of the worry she denies having, even to herself.There’s enough to be done during the day that, eventually, False forgets about it and she knows that, by the time night will roll around again, it will have left her mind until something will remind her of it, if anything.

* * *

He meets Impulse in front of the Mayor’s House, the brickwork and the greenery surrounding it painted in yellows and oranges that fade into a muted, brighter variant of themselves as the sun rises high into the sky with each passing second, and Zedaph arrives there before him, so he has a bit more time to overthink what their meeting will be like, what he will say, how he should react if Impulse keeps his greeting at handshake level, what he will do if Impulse decides a hug is in order and, as lost in thought as he is, Zedaph almost doesn’t notice the figure flying overhead, losing speed in methodical circles before ascending in a gentle glide.

Zedaph fiddles with his gloves as he watches Impulse crouch, landing in front of the Mayor’s house with the softest of thuds, a smile already making his eyes narrow slightly, the warm brown of them almost looking like amber in the dying sunrise, and Zedaph’s breath catches, for just a second, before he can inhale deeply and, carefully, bring his feelings back into his chest, where his treacherous heart speeds up, but where Impulse won’t know of their existence, or so Zedaph hopes, at the very least.

He gives Impulse a smile and one eyebrow is pulled up in what Zedaph knows looks like a more mischievous expression than he actually feels right now, but that’s ok, Zedaph thinks, because Impulse laughs a little as he approaches Zedaph, and though the sound does things to him, Zdedaph is… He is just genuinely happy to see Impulse again, to hear him laugh and, in a corner of his mind that reeks with betrayal, Zedaph wishes he could see Tango and Impulse, both of them, because he remembers his and Tango’s interaction from yesterday and though he knows how much harder his own feelings would be to hide, were the both of them to be standing before him, Zedaph cannot help but distantly wish it anyway.

Zedaph firmly unravels that line of thought from the moment Impulse is close enough that Zedaph can see the way his pack is filled with what Zedaph assumes is rails and enough carts and, perhaps, even a few boats to get the job done, as best as he can. Actually, probably more resources and backup, just in case, knowing Impulse, Zedaph thinks, fondness making his face turn a bit softer too.

“Hey, Zed”, Impulse says, cheerfully, and he does as Zedaph had expected, really, as Zedaph had almost hoped he would, and Zedaph curses himself a little, opening his arms wide, giving Zedaph enough time to pull back before Zedaph can simply sit where he is and let arms wrap around him, instead, swallowing the guilt down, for now, “Haven’t seen you in a while, buddy.”

“Yeah...”, Zedaph agrees, almost quietly, and before he can let himself melt into the hold, he pushes Impulse back, for the sake of his own sanity, really, and looks up at those beautiful eyes for a second more, gathering himself as best as he can, “Been well, I hope?”

And Impulse’s smile gentles around the edges, falling back into that kind expression that haunts Zedaph’s every waking moments as much as the sound of his voice does, but Zedaph takes note of the sight Impulse makes like this before he brings himself back into the moment, as if it were a precious image to hold onto.

“As well as can be!”, Impulse says with a laugh, and they seem to fall into chatter easily, then, Impulse telling Zedaph about all of the projects he’d gotten up to these past few days, weeks, perhaps, Zedaph isn’t that sure anymore, and Zedaph quips in, every so often, with some finished contraptions of his own or some plans for the new one, but maybe Impulse can tell that Zedaph isn’t in as best of a shape as he acts to be, because he fills the silence easily, and when it stalls, it is only so it can fall into comfortable quietness. Before Zedaph knows it, they begin walking towards the Nether portal behind them and Zedaph hasn’t really been into the Nether since they’d gotten here, but he doesn’t mind the nauseating feeling of vertigo that switching dimensions gives him, not when, just before he fades into the heated darkness that is waking up on the other side of the Nether, he can feel a hand on his shoulder, fingers squeezing it comfortingly.

It takes all of Zedaph’s willpower not to lean into the touch, but he manages and, when he only laughs as Impulse trips over the obsidian frame of the portal once he, too, passes, Zedaph almost feels a little proud of himself for how his heart only speeds up a little. Still, it is the giggle and the nervous smile after that almost do Zedaph in, but before he can admonish himself inside his own mind, they are moving again, the netherrack walls of a narrow tunnel that Impulse almost has to crouch don to pass through passing them in a blur of reds and crimson browns.

“I’ve not actually even been to the Nether since we got here, oh man”, Zedaph admits, at one point, and Impulse laughs again. The sound both warms and breaks Zedaph’s heart at how much affection runs through it in that moment.

“Too busy being creative?”, Impulse asks, jokingly, but even then, there’s the edge of something in his deep voice, as if he knows something, and for one moment, Zedaph is afraid. He remembers the worried, but understanding voice Impulse had used last time they’d seen each other, he remembers the cold and the fear and the pain, everything that had happened since then not really making him feel any better about himself, but as Impulse’s gaze softens, Zedaph decides that he shouldn’t worry Impulse needlessly with this, that he should fix this as best as he can, now. The smile falls easily into place, then, as does his hand as he claps Impulse on the back, throwing his arms around his neck and forcing him down as he usually would, fondly letting his own weight pull Impulse down as both of them start laughing.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

And the lies come easily, too. There’s a second when Impulse’s gaze falls onto the gloves, but before he can ask anything, before Zedaph can deflect the question, they are already at Impulse’s guardian farm portal.

* * *

It seems to go well, at first.

Zedaph almost forgets the feeling of the gloves rubbing against his skin, the way its texture, so unchanged despite its appearance, beneath the layer, feels a bit too sensitive, and the slight hint of weakness that he can’t quite shake off falls to the wayside as they reach the guardian farm, sparkling blue mixing with the cerulean sky, fluffy white clouds the only thing not allowing it to get lost into the seemingly endless expanse of sea all around them, and Zedaph is mesmerised.    
He lives near the see, or at least, somewhat close to it, and has traveled enough by boat to grow a bit less enthusiastically fond if it with time, no, it isn’t really just the sights or the box filled to the brim with guardians submerged beneath the water stretching out before them, redstone and technical structures lining its edges in a way that is neat enough to have Zedaph gape a little when confronted with the sight of it, seeing as his own redstone tends to be less organised and more so a mess that he hides away as best as he can, it’s the farm itself and  _ more. _

The amazement lingers at the back of his mind because all Zedaph can focus on right now, as they step out of the Nether and onto a prismarine line of blocks leading to what Zedaph guesses is the central area of the farm, is  _ Impulse _ . Impulse who is still laughing at the story of finding Hydrangea that he’d been telling him just before they were transported back into the overworld, Impulse who is shaking his head a little as Zedaph point at a hole in his cardigan, Impulse who just smiles so very comfortingly and throws an arm around Zedaph’s shoulder, leaning on him a little, but not enough to overbalance him, like Tango would, intentionally.

It is enough to have Zedaph freeze in his tracks, almost, the touch, the joy on his face, the thought of Tango, and yet Zedaph pushes his own reaction down and simply chuckles as well.

“It’s a cute name. A bit tacky, though”, Impulse says, still grinning and obviously joking as they make their way across the prismarine and Zedaph looks at the farm growing more complex beneath his very gaze the closer he gets to it. It’s well made and the attention and time and  _ effort  _ Impulse puts into all of his builds shines through, but his eyes keep falling back on Impulse, too.

“They’re a little menace, of course I’d name them Hydra”, Zedaph responds with a huff and there’s a smile tugging at his lips. This feels nice, this type of banter, it’s warm and safe and Zedaph hasn’t felt this relaxed in so long. Leave it to Impulse to drag him out of his thoughts with sheer positivity alone. He knows Tango would have probably dragged him into some sort of prank too, to get Zedaph’s mind off of things, had he not ran away and, distantly, Zedaph feels guilty, but it won’t change anything now. Maybe he will message Tango, will throws a completely different type of guilt and shame away and ask to meet up because Zedaph  _ wants _ to spend time with his friends, feelings be damned.

“Is that what you nicknamed them?”, Impulse asks and his voice goes a bit higher in pitch, and Zedaph loves how deep Impulse’s voice usually is, smooth and calm, but right now, it sounds like he is fawning over Zedaph’s pet parrot and that is heartwarming and it shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.   
“But of course”, Zedaph nods, giggling a little as Impulse’s smile widens, but before their conversation about pets and, really, life in general can commence, Zedaph carefully sidestepping on the subject of the gloves or what exactly had happened last time they’d seen each other, they reach the end of the narrow prismarine path. Chests, not nearly organised enough to indicate this being the real storage system of the farm, line the edges of a small platform and Zedaph steps on it carefully.

“Well then?”, Zedaph turns to look at Impulse, arms crossed over his chest, and just as well, because Impulse is looking at him warmly when he does and Zedaph wonders if his heart would quiet down, at least for once, if he reprimands himself enough times, because they are here to get something done, not for Zedaph to uselessly pine after someone he cannot, someone he should not  _ want _ to have.

But Impulse isn’t just looking at him,  _ like he always has _ , he reminds himself, he has a piece of railwork in his one of his hands and a cart is laying at his feet just next to him.

“Well then”, Impulse nods and, as they begins working, he explains exactly what they’ll be doing, how they’ll use carts to transport guardians through the Nether, using one of Stress’ potions to placate them and making sure there is enough ice in the carts themselves that, once they make it through the portal, the heat of the other dimension will melt through it, while still keeping the mobs cool enough to survive the trip.   
On one hand, Zedaph is excited because he’s not worked with guardians a lot, not in previous worlds and definitely not in this one and, what with Impulse and, usually, also Tango being experts in dealing with most of the mobs they encounter, peaceful or not, he isn’t too worried, not really, on the other hand, some worry still lingers and Zedaph guesses it must be a sort of aftereffect after all the paranoia he’s had to work through these last couple of days, but he doesn’t consider the feeling much.

They don’t talk as much while they work, but it is peaceful.

Things don’t go wrong until the two of them, accompanied by eight dozing guardians, reach xB’s base, the owner of it himself gone on a shopping trip, as he'd told Impulse he would be beforehand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is fine, im sure


	16. Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dying via water is not a fun endeavour, nor are sudden, painful visions, it would seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helo again, enjoy some pining and angst *yeets*

He catches glimpses of the shattered savanna outside the large windows of xB’s base, the tinted glass giving it a darker wash of colours, and even then, it is a breathtaking sight of land masses suspended in precarious ways, grazing animals peacefully wandering the pastures as if the distance between themselves and the rocky terrain below doesn’t bother them. Zedaph has never liked heights a lot, if only for fear of falling off of the taller structures some of the hermits seem fond of building, but it is an image to behold nonetheless. Still, the inside of the base is grand in its own right, columns of glass and concrete climbing high until they reach a ceiling that is almost obscured in the shadows left where the light cannot reach them. The floor is just as transparent, revealing the water that flows beneath in places.

“He’s done a great job”, Zedaph says, voice caught on a gasp as purple eyes take in the building with an awestruck look in them, gloved hands gripping the edge of a cart tightly enough that the seams dig into his skin and, next to him, he can hear a chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s a wonderful build” Zedaph turns to look at him and, just as he does, Impulse’s eyes drift towards the guardian carts behind them, the Nether portal bathing them in purple light where they stand, “I’m sure these guys will fit right in.”

Zedaph does nod, then. The water beneath the flooring is dark enough that Zedaph can’t quite see much beneath its surface, but he knows the underwater terrain has probably been prepared for the guardians as best as it could have been. Still, Impulse hums thoughtfully, eyes following Zedaph’s gaze.

“I told him what guardians might need to remain placated and happy, but perhaps we’ll just see how they adapt after we put them in?”

Zedaph purses his lips before a smile pushes at them.

“Sounds good to me. Shall we?”, Zedaph asks, pointing at the cart in front of him with an almost sly smile, but he knows it comes off more as goofy. If he is being honest, he’s always liked working with Impulse when it came to transporting mobs. He just has a way of soothing them enough to not attack any person that would even look at them, as they normally would, and it’s typical, Zedaph thinks, because he’s always been a more gentle sort of person, so of course he’d manage to get even the aggressive mobs to listen. It still amazes Zedaph and, as Impulse makes his way to the rest of the guardians, Zedaph lets his thoughts wonder, just for a second, as he eyes the guardian in the cart he is holding, their eye closed and the faint glow of their body even dimmer than usual as they sleep.

It’s not too clear of a memory, but that’s something Zedaph has come to expect at this point, but he sees a hand extended towards himself, sees the kind smile of the person that stands before him, and all at once, the feeling of the trust he’d immediately felt towards Impulse when he’d first met him and Tango comes back to Zedaph, a haunting touch of warm encouragements and warmer yet eyes. Zedaph squints. There’s something like fear, the taste of it bitter on his tongue, and it’s something the memory itself doesn’t reveal the cause of, but it is most certainly there and Zedaph cannot quite remember what he’d been afraid of, but he does recall how his, now, friends had managed to calm him down. The memory cuts off there, only flashes of his first few weeks with the hermits filtering through the haze of it all, but it is still something to be cherished, something that Zedaph tries to make into a reminder. Impulse and Tango had given him so much already, had accepted him before anyone else had, and, oddly enough, just for a second, the guilt doesn’t encompass his heart like a sweet tasting poison, and Zedaph smiles because, Gods, he loves them.    
He shakes his head and begins pushing the guardian forward again. It’s not the time to reminisce about some of his better memories, Zedaph knows, and the splash of water from the mob that seems to finally be waking from its short slumber is as good of a distraction as any. Impulse is back by his side before Zedaph can think much of the sliver of a red eye he can see staring back up at him from the cart and they bump shoulders. Zedaph laughs a little, but he can still feel the slight touch against his skin, even after Impulse has pulled away and trotted ahead of Zedaph, standing before an opening in the floor, where the glass gives way to the calm waters of xB’s base.

“Do we just dump them in or is there a certain procedure we should be following?”, Zedaph asks out loud, and he is only half joking, but Impulse smiles and reaches inside the cart he is pulling, petting a spot on the guardian’s head where the spikes don’t grow, leaving the area unprotected and which is, as it turns out, particularly vulnerable to head scritches.

“Yeah, for the most part. Just… Slowly. They’re still half asleep and if we wake them too suddenly, we’ll get zapped pretty much instantly.”

It’s said in a calm voice, but the slightest hint of worry makes its way on Zedaph’s face before he can squash it down. Impulse stops for a second, his smile still in place, but there’s something else in his expression, too. He looks at Zedaph, seemingly pondering something, before he reaches out, one hand extended until he can pat Zedaph on the back comfortingly.

“But it’s gonna be fine, we work together, yeah?”, he reassures Zedaph, looking down at him with this sort of soft, but firm look in his eyes, and Zedaph would usually not be this worried, he knows they both know it, but maybe Impulse knows him better than Zedaph had realised, understands him well enough to know how to navigate this odd mood Zedaph has been dealing with for… Gods, how long has it been since he’s actually felt, well and truly, like  _ himself _ ? How long has it been since he’s been able to just focus on his contraptions, on his friends, when his biggest worry is the fact that he feels lonely in a prison of his own making, what with Zedaph being a bit of, well, a  _ hermit _ , even now? He takes a breath and takes another step forward, leaving Impulse and his comforting touch behind, missing its gentle weight almost instantly, but they have work to do and now is really not the time for Zedaph to fall back into the mess that is his thoughts, strings of them circling back again and again and again until he is left trapped in the tangle they form together, until he can’t even figure out what he should say to sound as normal as possible.

“Yeah, I know. I trust you”, Zedaph ends up saying, tone as careless as he can possibly make it sound, but he is almost sure Impulse isn’t convinced, yet, if his reaction last time Zedaph had refused to talk about something possibly worrying is anything to go by, he won’t press where Zedaph doesn’t want him to, he’ll give his friend time, but he’ll worry regardless

Zedaph waits just at the edge of the hole in the floor, eyes fixed on the dark, undulating shapes and swirls of the water before him,  _ beneath _ him, where he can still see it under the transparent part of the ground until he hears an affirmative sound from where Impulse stands. Zedaph doesn’t look back, but he can imagine the slight surprise on his face, which would probably then melt into a calm expression, a hint of that comforting smile still stretched across his lips, because that is just how Impulse is. Instead, Zedaph nods, mostly to himself, and changes his grip on the cart.

The guardian is mostly awake now, dull red eye intent on Zedaph’s form, but they still seem calm enough and Zedaph does not want to find out how long that effect lasts. Carefully and ever so slowly, his gloves presenting him with an unforeseen advantage as they seem to provide a better grip where his palms, sweaty with nerves, would usually slip, Zedaph tilts the cart, watching as the water inside sloshes about, jostling the guardian gently, but they don’t seem to mind, they eye moving until they see the surface of the water towards where they seem to be headed.    
All at once, their form changes a bit and, before Zedaph knows what is happening, with a twist of their tail and a high sound, they shoot off into the water.

It is with a breathed out curse that Zedaph almost falls backwards with his shock, but there’s an arm, strong and careful, that prevents that, wrapping around him, and Zedaph clings to it with a gloved hand even as his heart still tries to calm down. Looking up, there’s the image of Impulse’s upside dowm, smiling face that greets him and, this time, Zedaph’s heart is speeding up for an entirely different reason. He rights himself immediately, afterwards.

“Feisty, feisty fish”, Zedaph mutters with a forced chuckle and, when Impulse joins in with a small laugh, Zedaph lets himself relax again.

“They sure are”, Impulse replies, one eyebrow drawn up as he, too, moves his cart until he can free the guardian into the water below the base. The process seems to go a bit more smoothly for him, though Zedaph can see the way forearms tense once the guardian is out of its metal cage, which serve to stop it from overbalancing, and Zedaph has to take a deep breath before he can look away and start walking towards where the other guardians are beginning to stir as well.

It is only once Zedaph extends a hand to grab onto another cart that he notices the way one of his sleeves has ridden up his arm, revealing the slightest hint of yellow beneath it, the glow of it dimmed in the atmospheric lighting of xB’s base, but too visible stoll, and Zedaph flinches before freezing in his tracks. His mind blanks, completely going dark, and Zedaph feels almost numb as he, belatedly, asks himself if Impulse had seen. He’d not seemed suspicious of Zedaph, nor had his eyes drifted to his hands, but Zedaph still feels the magnitude of the fear that his body is still trying to process through the numbness, the suddenness of it overwhelming.

And then, with frantic movements, Zedaph is stuffing the sleeves of his cardigan into the gloves themselves, fingers shaking before Zedaph draws a deep breath, holding them out before himself, the brown of the leather dull and not something he would think twice about, were he none the wiser to what hid below. Forcing the trembling to still makes his muscles feel uncomfortable, jittery, but Zedaph takes a breath, takes another breath, afterwards, glares at his feet and then goes to grab another cart. His movements are more rushed this time, but he remembers what Impulse had told him and, to the best of his shaky abilities, right now, Zedaph lets the guardian slip out into the water. It doesn’t surprise him, this time, but he can see the way Impulse lingers by his side until Zedaph is pushing the cart to the side and going back to grab another and another and-

“All good, Zed?”, Impulse asks, suddenly.   
“Yes, of course!” 

He is panicking.   
Zedaph isn’t exactly sure  _ why _ , but he is panicking, and as he stares at the last two carts, Impulse watching him, even if Zedaph looks at the floor instead of getting lost into soft, brown eyes, Zedaph _ knows _ , he has to wonder why he is keeping this a secret.   
Xisuma knows. Cleo probably has her doubts. Beef might have seen something. Tango and Impulse, by now, surely know  _ something _ , so why does he feel like it is something he has to hide from them, that something is going terribly wrong?   
Zedaph tries to distract himself from that line of thought as he pushes one of the carts, Impulse grabbing the last one with a barely audible, reluctant sigh, but something occurs to him as he watches the guardian swim away with a clicking sound.

He’s not trying to hide  _ this _ , he’s trying to hide himself.

It’s not just guilt, it’s not just paranoia, it’s not just a desire for normality that Zedaph feels, even if those sentiments are prevalent enough for him to recognise, it’s something else, something that he justifies his own loneliness with, when he locks himself in his base to work on a project, something that he’s been denying for so long, an overarching feeling, one that he almost cannot recognise anymore.

_ Fear _ .

**I know why you are afraid** , a voice says within the raging storm of his thoughts and Zedaph sways where he stands, eyes staring into nothingness, fingers digging into the metal of the cart until they ache, but the offer of knowledge in his own mind is almost tempting, even if he knows it isn’t a box he should open, not unless he is alone, where he can just deal with the aftermath of it without worrying someone else, but he does anyway, almost like he doesn’t have a choice, and the memory hits him like thunder, then, all at once, all encompassing and impossible to ignore.

_ It felt like he was being ripped apart, limb by limb, tendons tearing and skin being torn into by sharp, claw-like nails, but where it hurt most, where the pain was too much for his mind to register as it, too, broke, where it stole his vision and replaces it with fizzling darkness, where it took his breath, leaving behind an empty void, was where his heart had stopped beating, for just a second. He didn’t know whose screams he was hearing, couldn’t handle the world around him anymore, but even when it stopped, even when he broke free of the grasp around his body, the fingers around him twitching in agony, he could still feel, the ripples almost worse than the initial impact, the echoes of pain and hurt not something he could handle as he fell. When he blinked his eyes open next, there was light, and he felt as if he’d died, as if it had finally taken him, as it threatened to do whenever it changed him, but the pain wouldn’t let him think. A blue sky shone above him, the burnt edges of a sunset shining just at the edge of his vision, but the only thing he could feel, even as his freedom registered, was the need to run away, to find shelter, to hide. He knew she would see him if he waited like this for too long, but for just a moment, he allowed his body to rest, allowed the pain to settle, even as it made him grit his teeth, the coppery taste in his mouth something that should have worried him but that, in the moment, was just another thing to forget, later. His hand tightened around the little object still clutched securely between shaking, clawed fingers. _

It fades as quickly as it comes, the images burning and leaving only ashes to grasp at and a bone-deep ache that Zedaph has never felt before, but one that feels familiar nonetheless, and it leaves Zedaph dizzy and confused and  _ hurt _ in the middle of xB’s base.

“Zed? Zed, what’s wrong?”, Impulse’s voice sounds distant, but it brings Zedaph back from the embers of his own mind, even as it leaves him shaking where he stands.

“Nothing, I...”, he has to look down, at the gloves on his hands, at the way his fingers seem steady now, but he can’t really feel them, even as he moves them, “Just… Thought of something...”

And he hates himself, for how open the statement sounds, because he knows it’s an invitation for Impulse to ask more, even if Zedaph has nothing to give, only the sensation of the memory remaining within his grasp, a phantom of whatever that had been to haunt him, on top of everything, and Zedaph almost wants Impulse to ask about it, to question him, to confront him about everything, because Zedaph feels as if he is about to break, as though, if he were to let it all spill forward, the weight of it won’t crush him like it does now, because then Impulse will know, but-

As Zedaph turns to face Impulse, he just barely catches movement in his peripheral vision, Impulse making to step towards Zedaph, worry creasing his brows, but he slips and, suddenly, he is gone, the splash of water registering seconds later in Zedaph’s dazed brain.

Eyes widen, belatedly, and Zedaph doesn’t even try to stop himself, doesn’t even attempt to think it through, to wonder if he would be of any help, numb and shaken as he is, before he jumps in after Impulse.

Cold envelops Zedaph all at once and he thinks it should soothe the pain that lingers somewhere just beneath his skin, but it only deepens the numbness. Still, he swims downwards, eyes stinging as he opens them, the blood rushing in his ears the only thing he can hear beneath the surface of the water. He cannot see much, the lack of light a strain on his eyes, but Zedaph swims forward as best as he can, regardless, ignoring red eyes that swim in and out of the shadows all around him. It gets harder to move the more time passes and Zedaph knows that they’ll both end up dying and respawning at this point, but he knows how unpleasant drowning is, he knows how hard it is to breathe right for hours afterwards, and so he keeps searching anyway, a primal fear driving him forwards.

Zedaph is almost ready to give up when, suddenly, he catches a glimpse of bright yellow just outside of his reach. All at once, he pushes forward with as much strength as his weakened body can possibly provide him with. They are both running out of air and, in that moment, the urgency overpowers everything else, allowing him to push through, to bite his tongue and swim forward until he can wrap his fingers around a fistful of Impulse’s black and yellow shirt.

Impulse eyes are barely open by the time they are close enough for Zedaph to make out his features, and he is so pale that it leaves Zedaph’s stomach twisting and his fingers shaking, worse so than before, but he doesn’t let go, instead bringing his other hand forward as well, tugging at it as it gets stuck in some of the algae inside the water pools beneath the base, but soon enough, with two hands tangled in Impulse’s shirt, Zedaph begins kicking, almost flailing as he swims upwards, where the dim contours of the base are blurred by the light that barely breaks the surface. Gods, he hopes he is heading for a hole in the glass and not the glass itself, but there is no way of knowing until he reaches it and staying here won’t help them, so Zedaph pushes forward, even when his muscles start locking up.

There’s this sort of overwhelming relief when they get closer to the water’s surface and, at this point, Zedaph can tell that glass won’t block their way, but when he turns to look at Impulse, who has gone lax in his grip, he catches a look of shock and something else in brown eyes, even through the veneer of the dark water beneath them, briefly, before Impulse’s eyes close and, whatever he’d been doing to help them reach the surface faster  _ stops _ .

Zedaph doesn’t have time to panic as it almost drags him downwards again. He renews his efforts until,  _ finally _ , he breaks free of the water’s hold, gasping for air, lungs burning and head spinning. Impulse is still not moving and Zedaph struggles to keep him afloat, blonde hair falling in his eyes, and it really gets harder and harder to move with each second he spends into the cold water, but there’s a ledge of solid floor just next to them, which Zedaph grabs hold of as though it were a lifeline. His body wants to stop, then, to just rest on the ledge, but Zedaph knows he has to get Impulse on a dry surface, knows that he can’t stay in this water much longer himself either, but it’s almost too hard to move, at first.

It’s with a herculean effort that he, somehow, throws Impulse’s body over the edge of the floor, grunting as he almost fails to push himself up as well. The water still sloshes behind them, guardians probably made curious by the flurry of activity, but exhaustion and residual numbness make him not care for the mobs, hoping that they won’t attack them until Zedaph can make sure Impulse is fine.

There’s something to be said about how much Zedaph struggles to lift himself using his elbows, the water in his clothes dragging him down as much as the heavy sensation of his limbs is, but he manages to do so anyway, at least, after a few attempts that almost land him back in the water.

Impulse is sprawled on the floor of xB’s base, his shirt clinging to his back and, for a moment, Zedaph holds his breath. His form moves slightly as he breathe and he twitches, a wheezing breath breaking through the silence.

“Oh, thank the Gods”, Zedaph whispers, eyes falling shut as his worry fades, at least a little bit. Still, even if Impulse is breathing, Zedaph lays a hand on his shoulder and turns him until he is laying on his back, his eyes opening slightly, unfocused and blank, and there’s a sickly pallor to his skin. Zedaph sighs, quietly, heavily, and presses a hand to his forehead.

He isn’t overly cold, but he should definitely get dried up and get to someplace warm. For just a second, as tired as he suddenly is, Zedaph cannot see why it would be a wrong idea to just lean forward until the side of his face is pressed to Impulse’s chest, eyes squeezed shut against tears that Zedaph hadn’t even realised he was holding back.

“Silly, silly man...”, Zedaph whispers even as his body sags against the floor on top of Impulse’s, the steady beat of his heart enough to calm Zedaph down, enough to make him realise that he is here, right now, not in a memory, not in danger, he is here, with Impulse, and he is fine. They both are.

“Z-Zed”, is said, shakily, a deep inhale following the attempt at Zedaph’s name, “Your...”

Zedaph doesn’t know what Impulse had wanted to say because, as his hands brace themselves against the floor so he can raise his body off of Impulse in order to stop crushing a man that had just barely escaped drowning, Zedaph realises one thing.

He can  _ feel _ the ground beneath one of his palms, and not through the material of a glove, no, he can feel it directly on his skin.

Zedaph shoots up, then, dizzy with the sudden movement, but before he can stumble and fall, he is running towards the Nether portal, static buzzing in his ears, mind growing dark once more, and he thinks he can hear Impulse call out after him, but by the time the thought that running away,  _ again _ , might not be a smart solution, the magic of the portal has already drawn him into the hellish dimension of the Nether, where Zedaph collapses onto the netherrack.

He should tell Tango to go check on Impulse, and he will, he just…

He just needs a moment.

* * *

“Z-zed, your...”

His body aches, every little movement dragging at his limbs in an uncomfortable way, skin raised in goosebumps from the cold, but even so, there’s a certain clarity to the way he processes what he’d seen. Impulse is alone by the time he manages to get up and, no doubt, by now, Zedaph is already well on his way home. With a quiet, pained sigh, Impulse blinks, leaning into one of the pillars of xB’s home. Despite knowing that death is always followed by a respawn, painful though it may be, in the worlds the hermits choose to inhabit, his breath still catches on lingering panic, but Impulse doesn’t necessarily want to think about death, not here, not now. In the pool of water right next to him, he can see one of Zedaph’s gloves, something that is already odd enough on its own, seeing as he’s never really been one to wear them before, unless it had been for a costume, but his mind is absent, he stares at the leather but he doesn’t really see, no, what his mind keeps playing over and over again, until confusion and worry spiral into one another, making Impulse’s body tense with it, is an image of Zedaph, dark and gritty, the water concealing their surroundings in shadows, but his  _ eyes _ -

His eyes had  _ glowed _ in the darkness, ever so faintly, a blue-purple shimmer standing out in the obscurity of the water, and all at once, Impulse has to wonder, for the first time allowing himself to worry as he has wanted to from the very beginning, even as he’d told himself he shouldn’t assume because Zedaph will tell them when he is ready, what is going on with his friend. It’s all just now coming crashing down around him and amongst it, regret falls heavy and hard where Impulse had decided to step back instead of pushung forward,

Tango finds him like that, lost so deep in thought that he doesn’t even hear him as he zips right out of the portal, tackling him in a strong hug until both of them fall back onto the floor. Hands, warm and sure, cup his face and Tango pulls him close until Impulse can almost feel his lips on his own, until they can bring their foreheads together and rest, for a second, like that, until Impulse comes back to himself, even as his brain runs circles as it looks for answers it cannot possibly find.

They both know Impulse will tell him as soon as he gathers his wits about himself, but for now, Tango just holds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe... maybe lore next chapter? mayhaps more angst? who knows


	17. Setting Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life doesn't get better until it gets worse, or so goes the saying. The question of just how much worse remains unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some different POVs this chapter

The bees are buzzing behind him, happily floating in and out of their little glass homes, petals sometimes floating behind them when they return to deposit pollen gathered from outside the bee enclosures, and it’s a calming sound, quiet enough not to be distracting but loud enough that it brings his mind a background noise to build upon without deafening his thoughts, the possibilities that, due to their vagueness, at the moment, seem endless, yet they don’t let him get lost. Every so often, he will feel one of his fluffy companions brushing against his helmet or against the arms he uses to balance himself just over the honey pit, his fingers twitching on the railings even after he removes his helmet, his hair feeling sweaty underneath the afternoon sun.

Xisuma sighs. The latches on his armour are loosened to the point where they might just trail behind him if he moves to quickly, and yet the air feels constricting, somehow, as if his own mind is playing that same trick on him where it makes the air feel charged with something that should be less tense than it actually is, but while XIsuma likes to think of himself as someone who can keep a level head during a crisis, it’s the not finding an answer to a problem that slowly makes him lose himself in answers that he cannot check in a database, in texts and books regarding similar issues that bothers him now, but in the end, for the first time in a long time, probably the first time since the jungle incident, and Xisuma winces, he isn’t sure what to make of this. A bee buzzes next to his ear softly and brushes against the side of Xisuma’s face before settling on his head, making a cozy little nest for itself in the already messy curls it finds there. A gentle smile makes its way onto his lips and Xisuma reaches up to pat it gently, fingers featherlight when they meet the fuzz of the bee.

“You don’t have an answer for me, do you, buddy?”, he asks, laughing a little bitterly, but the bee simply buzzes, both content and, funnily enough, a bit confused. Xisuma certainly relates.

“No, that would be a bit silly… You don’t really use magic, you don’t have a need for it.”

He sighs again, but this time it’s a deeper sort of exhale and, with the air leaving his lungs, so does whatever dead-end thought he’d been following. The conclusion that he simply doesn’t have the knowledge to know what has been plaguing one of his hermits is one he’d reached a bit ago, but even so, he tries and tries, nonetheless, whenever he is not dealing with an emergency or a particularly bad glitch, but something in his gut tells Xisuma that this is important, that this will become dangerous later, if left unattended, and Xisuma knows that bad things can happen without a warning at any time, yet he can’t help but be a bit protective of his hermits, of his family, especially when he is sure there must be something that he is missing. 

Carefully, using both hands, Xisuma takes the bee off of his head and holds it in his arms, a bit like he would a particularly and vibrantly stripped pet, one that is as fluffy as can be and the bee watches him for a moment before seemingly melting into the hold and buzzing happily, almost vibrating in Xisuma’s hands. He lets it go and watches it as it sleepily makes its way to one of the glass-encased beehives, where it joins its brethren for the night, the sky above growing darker the more Xisuma stands and waits. Now free of any fluffy creature, Xisuma’s hands are fiddling nervously, so he crosses his arms over his chest, a headache already making him close his eyes and frown.

“Did he not tell me something…?”Xisuma has to ask himself, voice a whisper, a mumbled question that he’s thought about, but never voiced, and it’s either that, he realises, or Zedaph hadn’t even _noticed_ some sort of key aspect of his… Well, to call it a singular problem would imply that his skin gaining its odd, metallic hue and his unclear past and, well, everything that had apparently gone wrong after their latest venture in a new world are all somehow connected. It’s what Xisuma thinks, but he isn’t sure he should, isn't sure that seeing them as symptoms of a larger issue helps him get any closer to an answer. For a brief moment, he remember show Zedaph had looked when he’d told him, remembers defeat shining on his face, and Xisuma has to wonder how long he had let this go on for before actually reaching out, and a few more occasions come to mind, Tango and Impulse hinting that they know something is wrong with their friend, but that they know about as much as everyone else, for once in the dark just like the other hermits, Beef telling Xisuma Zedaph had acted skittish where he would usually be playful but not knowing why, small things, here and there, that now add up in Xisuma’s brain that must be tied together by some sort of string, because things like these don’t just _happen,_ do they?

But then Xisuma thinks about Grian, and he cannot help but see something that he thinks might be similar, but he isn’t sure. Magic gained where none had been before, a question of where it had come from, a fear of what it could do, a period of time dedicated to learning, to understanding it and its origin, to processing the scar that had allowed it to fester until it almost hurt Grian before he’d ever thought of telling the other hermits about his backstory, and yet… Grian had known. He may not have been aware of the danger he posed to himself, not at first, anyway, but later on, when they’d all gathered together to help him as best as they could with their own experiences with magic, he could pinpoint moments of his own story where things might have changed.

Zedaph is a different can of worms entirely. Xisuma _assumes_ the root of his own troubles lies in magic also, probably not something common enough for Xisuma to be entirely familiar with, but he has no point of reference from the man himself and, in the back of his mind, Xisuma has his doubts about a mysterious past containing a single event that might have brought this about, because Zedaph had never, at least, it’s never _seemed_ as if he’d gone through something like this since knowing the hermits, so either he’d grown worse at hiding it lately, the issues themselves having gotten worse, or it is something that has always been there, which is simply resurfacing.

Xisuma looks at the sky, now bloody with the setting sun, the clouds almost dark purple around their edges, the wind moving them quite swiftly across the sky in a way that should be soothing, but isn’t, not when Xisuma is still this deep in thought. The last option, despite not having a logical reason behind it other than pure speculation, makes Xisuma think. Nothing comes of it, thought.

He pushes himself away from the banister of his honey pit and raises his arms above his head, feeling his spine pop and, together with the slight ache of it, a sense of looser limbs and a less tense body spreads through his muscles.

Zedaph isn’t the only thing on his mind, now, and Xisuma walks towards the exit of his bee enclosure, his boots echoing behind him, helmet held in one arm.

 _I think I saw some sort of glitch, yesterday night. It was a mob, but I’m not sure what it was. It disappeared when I tried to get close_ , had been the words Xisuma had woken up to that morning, the relaxed sort of worry that only False would be able to get across so well sticking to Xisuma throughout his day, as he worked on his projects and as he monitored the magic imprint of their worlds for any anomalies,which didn’t seem to indicate any odd occurence that could explain whatever it is False had seen, but he ponders it now. 

So long as it doesn’t pose a threat, so long as it stays a one-time occurence, Xisuma is willing to let it go, is willing to put on a smile and joke about False needing more rest, his tone only half joking, because he always worries about the hermits being… Well, too hermity, about them isolating themselves and disregarding themselves while caught in a project, as he himself, admittedly, does, from time to time.

Xisuma doesn’t like letting things go though, not without a solution, but right now, he is tired. Overthinking never helps him and when he gets like this, the best thing he can do is sleep on it before he decides what sources he should consult for answers and what he should really be occupying his time with. Night can lend some logic, come morning, but Xisuma wants to do one more cursory check on his farms, on his builds, perhaps throw a glance at the statuses of his hermits before going to bed himself, and he knows it will get late by the time he will finish all of that, but it will help clear his head, at the very least, this sort of methodical thing, and so Xisuma straps his elytra on, making sure to tighten the buckles of his armour, and tuck some loose strands of hair back into the ponytail that is barely hanging on after a whole day of wearing his helmet, as per usual, and takes off with a shower of rocket sparks left behind him. 

Flying in the dark has always been relaxing to him and, for a second, Xisuma just allows himself to breathe in the night air.

* * *

Impulse puts the mug on the nightstand as quietly as he can, eyes pinned to the carpet underneath socked feet and, just as quietly, wincing at the slight rustle of sheets, he tries to get out of bed without Tango noticing. He is unsuccessful and Tango lets him know, clearing his throat and making Impulse wince slightly, but Impulse still doesn’t lay back down in bed, just blinks, purses his lips and looks to Tango, who is leaning against the door frame with a knowing look in his eyes. 

“Nuh-uh, you’re getting some rest tonight, mister I-don’t-know-what-a-break-is”, Tango says casually, his grin toothy and his eyes narrowed with it, his posture casual and his day-to-day clothes exchanged for a pair of soft sweatpants and nothing else. It’s not like Impulse minds the view, he always liked spending time with his boyfriend and, really, Tango should not have made his starter base, which now serves as their shared living quarters more often than not, at least, when they aren’t too busy with projects, and maybe it’s been a while since they’ve had time to just be together, but, as cozy as it is, he really, truthfully doesn’t mind, but-

“C’mon Tango, I’m good. I just want to check on some projects and then I’ll just… You know”, Impulse nods towards the bed, smiling sheepishly when he sees the way Tango considers him, humming thoughtfully as he tilts his head to the side a bit. And then Impulse attempts to stand up and a wave of dizziness all but makes him fall back onto the mattress, were it not for arms wrapping around him and steadying him. The heat of a fever, which Impulse has intentionally ignored, up until now, returns with a vengeance and it blurs his vision a little, which only makes Tango’s grip on him tighten ever so slightly. Impulse looks down at him and blinks a few times before he can discern the way Tango’s brows are furrowed, something more serious passing over his face.

“Well, you may not be willing to take care of yourself, you nerd, so I guess I will”, he proclaims, almost proudly, and when Impulse sighs in defeat and all but melts in his arms, nuzzling Tango’s neck and allowing strong arms to support him until they lower him back into bed, Tango just runs a hand down his back, fingers gentle, but firm. He doesn’t sound too worried, he’s probably all too aware of just how tired Impulse still feels and how much the promise of holding each other until sleep overwhelms him affects him, but a hint of it is still there and Impulse knows he’d be the same with Tango, though he’d probably end up having to bribe him with at least a dozen kisses before convincing him to not pull one more all nighter after another night spent on one of his projects, as it usually happens. It isn’t something either of them mind.

“Doesn’t”, Impulse pauses to yawn, Tango shuffling until they are both covered by the blankets, his arms slipping around Impulse, “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

He can feel Tango smirk in the crook of his neck, so Impulse wraps his own arms around him, burying his fingers in his blonde hair and pulling him close, nosing at his jaw and planting a small kiss on his check, relishing in the slight inhale that it earns him, followed by muffled laughter. Still, Impulse settles in, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, letting himself relax in the hold, tightening his arms around Tango just a fraction, something, just a little thought, keeping him from simply drifting off.   
And Tango, of course, catches on, but he doesn’t move much, although one of his hands returns to Impulse’s back and resumes it’s earlier circular movements, making Impulse relax even further into it.

“Whatcha thinking about, Impy?”, Tango asks in a whispered tone, his voice rough with how low the words are said, and Impulse moves, but only enough to look into Tango’s eyes from where they are both laying on their sides, facing each other. In the light of the single lamp still lit in their bedroom, Tango’s eyes seem warm, almost mirroring the embers of a dying fire, comfortable and welcoming, but…

Even with the intense colour that never fails to take Impulse’s breath away, he cannot help but think that, despite the lighting being what it is, they don’t look like they _glow_. Impulse closes his eyes again and Tango brings their foreheads together, strands of yellow hair brushing against the sides of Impulse’s face, the sensation ticklish.

“Just… Today.”

Tango doesn’t need more words than that to hold Impulse more tightly, to bring their faces close enough that their lips almost touch as they speak, to allow Impulse to feel how warm Tango always is, but for once, Impulse isn’t necessarily only left shaken by a near death, because even if those still have their effect on him, he’s learned to deal with them for the most part and, when they are especially bad, when they become overwhelming, he usually tells Tango or contacts a close friend still living in the common world, if only because he misses him and knows they both relate to this sort of lingering fear, but this time, it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, no, what makes Impulse uneasy and what has him worried, even more so than usual, is Zedaph.

Tango doesn’t say anything and Impulse sighs, aware that he is waiting for Impulse to tell him, or not, if he so chooses, about what is bothering him, and after a moment spent collecting his thought, Impulse whispers out just a few words than hang heavier between them than the silence, bring with them a sort of tension that, sometimes, would be merely caused by the mess that is feelings and all of those things that they address amongst themselves, but choose to keep back when around their friend, but that’s not it, not this time.

“It’s Zed.”

Tango allows a second to pass before he speaks again, quiet, barely audible, were it not for how close they are right now, just about sharing the same air.

“You’re worried about him, like, _really_ worried.”

It’s not a question, but it has the same tone of one, so Impulse nods and opens his eyes, taking in the sharper planes of Tango’s face, a hand reaching up until he can cup Tango’s cheek and caress the skin beneath one red eye with his thumb.

Impulse hears it even if Tango doesn’t say a word, the _me too_ passing unsaid between them in the subtle changes in Tango’s expression.

“Wanna ask about it, now?”, is said after a while, a bit more humorously, some of the tension falling away at the warmth and affection of their gestures, and Impulse knows he’d been the one to suggest letting Zedaph tell them on his own terms rather than forcing him, but they care about him, maybe in more ways than one, he _is_ their friend and, as far as Impulse can tell, whatever is going on, whatever is happening, whatever has Zedaph wearing gloves and has him jumping whenever Impulse as much as touches him, whatever had made Zedaph stop, back when they were working with the guardians just a few hours earlier, whatever had made his face twist with something akin to pure, unadulterated horror, it doesn’t seem like something Impulse can let slide anymore. Tango would, probably, because he trusts Zedaph to reach out when he needs it, and Impulse does too, or at least, he does _usually_ , but something seems different now. Before, Zedaph would downplay certain things, would ignore issues until they got him down, but now, it seems bigger than just exhaustion or loneliness taking their toll on him, it’s more than his own mind guiding him towards isolation in a betrayal of itself, and Impulse is, in fact, _really_ worried.

“I just… I want him to be safe. To… I guess I just want to be there for him”, Impulse says, slowly, stumbling over his own words, just a little, and Tango presses a chaste kiss to his lips before Impulse can over-explain. He understands, Impulse knows. They've both come to terms with their feelings some time ago and they both know each other well enough to know how to comfort each other. Zedaph may not be a part of their dynamic, not the way Impulse and Tango would want him to, but they care for him just as much, if a bit differently, as they care for all of their friends, and right now, Impulse thinks he needs them, thinks that this, whatever it may be, is getting out of control and… Honestly, he just wants Zedaph to know that he can trust them, if anyone. They’ve always been like this, ever since they’d found him, always stuck together closer than would have been logical even after they’d met for the first time, but that’s always worked for them. They’re a team, after all.

And right now, Impulse thinks Zedaph might need that sort of companionship, that support, more than ever.

From the way Tango nicks at his lips with one of his fangs, Impulse knows that he is saying what he always says when Impulse gets a bit too lost in his head, _don’t assume anything_ , and Impulse knows he is right, but right now, even Tango can tell that maybe it’s time to take a step before it’s too late. Impulse loves Tango and Tango loves him, that they’ve known for a long time now.

And they love Zedaph, too. 

Whatever shape that love takes, whatever form they allow it to take, they care for him all the same.

“Tomorrow, then. He will have had time to wind down and you’ll feel better. Now sleep, you fool...”

Impulse laughs drowsily at the affectionate tone of his words and he kisses Tango’s forehead as he closes his eyes again, tightening his grip around his lover and humming as he feels Tango relax in his embrace. They fall asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, when I first started this fic, it wasn't supposed to be as long as it already is and mostly had like one plot point and that's it. It became a bit more complicated and I am a bit stuck on the outline. Might be a bit of time until I redo that (and until school gives me rights again, but alas.)  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3


	18. Waxing Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worst when Zedaph's dreams toe the line of what is and isn't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the latest tags. If some more graphic descriptions of wounds and some really bad situations, mental and physical, don't sit well with you, I will provide a description in the end note so you ca skip those passages in upcoming chapters.  
> In this one, it is mild, but after the third break, if blood and the likes doesn't vibe with you, please skip that part and head to end notes for a less graphic summary.

The restless energy that Zedaph can’t rid himself of even once he makes it home, even once Tango shoots him a message telling him that he and Impulse are back home safely, even once he is dressed in a new set of clothes, draping a blanket over his shoulder, watching the sun fall below the horizon with every passing second from the back entrance of his cave, Clifford already back inside the base, resting by the furnace contraption with Hydrangea cuddling themselves into his shoulders, is distracting. It makes his thought roll around too quickly for him to linger on any of them but they still somewhat register and Zedaph has to wince as he keeps going over the events of the day, over and over again, seeing Impulse’s smiling face turn into a worried expression in his mind, and it isn’t a good thought, the fact that he’d ran away instead of trying to find an excuse, a plausible explanation for… Well, everything. Zedaph sighs. One of his fists tightens around a handful of the soft blanket and a shiver goes down his spine. It’s getting colder with each passing day and, usually, it wouldn’t bother him too much, the change of seasons, but it seems to affect him more than usual, now, and perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise, Zedaph thinks, enough has happened already to leave him sensitive and raw to any more changes.

He turns his back to the door, closing it with his foot and heading for the storage area in the centre of the cave. Zedaph isn’t sure what to do, exhaustion and restlessness challenging his productivity, as they had been for the last couple of days, leaving him too awake to rest just yet, and Zedaph wonders if perhaps it is a bad decision to pick up one of his notebooks from his valuables’ chest, adamantly ignoring the blue glimmer of the moonstone still sitting in the corner of it, flicking through the pages of ideas, letting out an almost disappointed breath when he reaches the empty pages that are yet to be scribbled upon all too soon. Zedaph had been so enthusiastic at first, had jotted down so many ideas for contraptions he could design, for games he could make, shops he could build that would surely not undercut anyone, totally, but the more time had passed, the worse things got with everything happening too fast and all at once, He’d really just disregarded it and it makes him feel a bit bad.    
Hydrangea lets out a squeak as they land on his shoulder and Zedaph brings the notebook up to them, waving away the budding bitterness. In a way, he wonders how he’d found the energy and state of mind to come up with all these ideas, some of them being quite ridiculous, but fun nonetheless, when now all Zedaph can do is look longingly and wonder when he’ll get back into just building his contraptions. It’s what he’s always done, after all, Zedaph thinks, remembering all the sleepless nights spent working on his redstone, even when it turned out he would have to start over the next day, and though it’s still not something he feels too confident about, it was,  _ is _ fun, and Zedaph misses it, misses the buzz of the dust beneath his fingers, the slight vibration of a piston firing, the overall logistics behind his own machineries.

Hydrangea doesn’t react at first and Zedaph wonders, a bit humorously, if they might be reading through his ideas, a half-hearted smile pulling at the corners of his lips, but after a few silent moments pass, they turn to him and pinch his cheek almost admonishingly, as if to say that he could, that he maybe  _ should _ get back into crossing future contraptions off of his list, and Zedaph wonders if they would be right. Not for the first time, he wonders if he is exaggerating this whole thing, if, perhaps, he’s built this up in his own head. Sure, things had grown weird, it’s why he had gone to Xisuma in the first place, it’s why he has been avoiding people, more so than usual, but maybe Zedaph had let it get to him. His gaze falls to the ground, to the stone and carpet that line the bottom of his storage silo, and his hands shake as he lowers the notebook back into the chest, closing the lid softly before sitting down, the cold ground not really the most comfortable thing, but Zedaph ignores it. With his back to the chest, Zedaph pulls his knees to his chest, Hydrangea climbing off of his shoulder and all but poking his eyes out with their beak when they settle on his knees instead. Zedaph wonders if they are judging him for the mess he’s allowed himself to become, for all of the things he should have handled differently, for all the people he’d brought into this when he should have been able to resolve it, or at least bear it on his own. 

_ You’re not alone, Zedaph _ , echoes in his ears and it feels like he’d heard these words so long ago that they sound distant, something outside of Zedaph’s reach. He closes his eyes. He knows he isn’t, on a logical level, he knows that there are people who will care about him regardless, who will try to help him if he were to ask it of them, who will be there for him as this mess unravels, leaving something that Zedaph cannot predict the outcome off behind, he does, but in a way, that hurts, too, the option of depending on people, the choice to let someone else in, as though the comfort would be used against him, somehow, as if the company would turn bittersweet once he is on his own again. 

_ Again? _

**Again.**

Zedaph’s chest feels tight when he takes in a stuttered breath, a worried noise from Hydrangea breaking the silence only perforated by the everpresent humming that Zedaph thinks might be a draft from  _ somewhere _ in the cave or his brain finally snapping, and the rattly sound of his own breathing.

“It’s ok, I’m fine Hydra.”

His eyes sting when he opens them to look at his feathered companion and there’s a watery smile on his face that Zedaph tries to force into looking more genuine, but the flat stare Hydrangea gives him displays how not believable it is. He lets Hydrangea hop closer to his face until they can nuzzle his cheek, but the small, affectionate touch makes his body tense up even further. His fingers dig into the material of his trousers and Zedaph can’t help but look down at his own hands, at the way the warm tones reflect the diffused light of the cave. By now, the colour has spread up his arms, veins of it reaching his chest even, and Zedaph has to wonder how much longer he has until he won’t be able to hide it anymore. Less than he’d like, any way, and he raises a hand until he can inspect it more closely, turning it this way and that, as though it would reveal a seam that Zedaph could pull at until he would be able to fix it, but that’s unrealistic to say the least and Zedaph only drops his hand and closes his eyes once more. Everything is still again, for a moment, the fine feathers and the colder touch of a beak pressed against his cheek grounding Zedaph somewhat, but the tension isn’t really fading. Then he feels soft fur slide beneath his fingers and a wet nose press into the hand he’d dropped onto the cold stone and Zedaph can’t help but let out a little strained chuckle as he lets Clifford slide his own fuzzy body into Zedaph’s lap, forcing him into a more comfortable and less pretzel-y position. It provides Zedaph with another quiet moment of just laying there, allowing his pets to comfort him until it all falls over on the other side of this numbness, Zedaph’s face scrunching up as he blinks against the sting of tears, but it doesn’t really help when the first few of them roll down his cheeks, as if they were a damn broken against the pressure of something worse than what Zedaph had thought hid behind all of the emotions he’d tried, as best as he could, to push away in the hopes of regaining normalcy, both now and before.

Gods, but he is  _ tired _ , he is tired of feeling tired and, as he holds his breath against the pain spreading through his chest, making his breaths catch, he bites his lips, holding the sobs in.  _ It’s gonna be ok _ , he reassures himself, even as he curls himself into a ball with Clifford whimpering and crawling into Zedaph’s arms, Hydrangea slipping between then and hiding in the crook of Zedaph’s neck,  _ It’s gonna be fine _ , he tells himself even as he forces his eyes open, eyebrows drawn down, his face steeled into blankness in an attempt to reign his emotions back into a place where Zedaph can somewhat control them, where he can keep them to himself, but it’s harder than just snapping his fingers and bringing himself peace.    
Eventually, though, his breathing does even out and, with the blanket and the warmth of his dog now all but laying on top of him, Zedaph feels quite tempted to just lay here, in a corner of his storage space, and let sleep claim him, his body even heavier than usual, his mind fuzzy with it and his chest still aching, but he only allows himself to rest for a few more minutes, just until Clifford seems to fall asleep. Zedaph stands up, then, shakily, his fingers twitching before he picks Clifford and Hydrangea up, as gently as he can, and brings them to bed instead.

Zedaph hears a whimper just as he lays his two pets into the covers, running his hands through Clifford’s soft, white fur and pointedly looking away from the sight of his own hand, and he is scared that he’d woken Clifford up until he feels Hydrangea pinch his hand. He looks down at them, eyes wide, and he has to hold his laughter back once he realises they can mimic sounds. He does chuckle lightly, though, and he runs his fingers over their head softly, watching as they lean into his touch before making themselves a little nest out of Clifford’s fur and laying down as well, burrowing themselves in their own wings. 

He watches them, but he doesn’t linger much, though there’s a small smile on his face once he steps away, one which crumbles little by little as he heads back towards his storage area. His breaths are still a bit too loud and the tension has moved on to tainting the air around him until it feels suffocating, but as Zedaph opens the enederchest stashed in the corner and pulls out a red shulker box, it all suddenly slows down. It’s quiet now, everything is still and, as Zedaph draws in one more breath, pickaxe held in a deathgrip in one hand and redstone box clutched beneath his other arm, his eyes glance at the small hole in the ceiling of the cave, only to swiftly turn around and look away from the bluish light of early evening and get started on doing some digging. 

Maybe getting something done, maybe a distraction will help, he thinks to himself, and it’s almost laughable, how out of it he feels even as he sets about digging beneath his storage silo, but it’s the only thing he can think to do, right now, because Zedaph is sick of hearing his own thoughts run in circles like a broken machine.

He needed an expansion for his storage anyway, is what he tells himself as he digs down, the humming that he’d been hearing for days now only growing ever so slightly louder with each block downwards. It’s easy enough to ignore.

**It won’t work** , echoes inside his mind and Zedaph knows. He continues regardless, down and down and down.

* * *

It works just fine at first, the mindless repetitiveness of mining out a narrow tunnel right down to bedrock beneath his storage are, the sounds and the focus required enough to make the world around him and, consequently, his own thoughts, shut up for once, but it’s simple enough that, even as he trudges on, already tired from the get go, it’s easy enough to continue, it’s easy enough up until the point of actually starting to work on creating a way to store bulks of items, and so, after a few hours, Zedaph finds himself at the bottom of the hole, the bedrock particles flying around him like bits of ash and smoke, swirling and not seeming to respect gravity, just coming in and out of existence as they hit the rays of light from the torches he’d placed down earlier, and, here, the only sound, is Zedaph’s own breathing and the humming from before. Somewhat calmer as he is, though still not in any shape to do and think through redstone right now, it makes him wonder. Maybe he won’t be taken by surprise for once, if he doesn’t ignore it, sounds like a good enough reason, but now, half delirious with exhaustion and with the same emotional numbness from earlier today - yesterday - it’s all too easy to just lean against a wall, arms crossed over his chest, brows pinched together in something akin to worried interest.

The humming sounds louder here, louder than he’s ever heard it before, yet still barely something that he manages to tune in on when there’s no other sound to be heard. Still, this time, it’s  _ just _ loud enough that Zedaph realises how inconsistent it is. It’s not the constant buzzing of a redstone clock set on a nearly unsustainable speed and it’s not the natural sounds of ambiance that vary in pitch and tone, no, but it sounds almost…

It’s almost like…

Zedaph shakes his head. He doesn’t think he’s ever come this close to bedrock before, so perhaps the sound had travelled through a cave and, as his cave had expanded, it had gained enough room to reverberate through and Zedaph just hadn’t heard it before. It seems logical, he thinks as he reaches out to a flake of the bedrock that floats just before him, but before golden fingers can close around it, it vanishes once more. 

**It’s like whispering.**

Still, he cannot stop himself from thinking about other possibilities, not when his stream of consciousness is loose from tiredness. The hope that it is a simple natural phenomenon that he hadn’t experienced before is the only thing that keeps Zedaph from spiralling again, but he isn’t sure he has the energy to do that again, either way, not right now. For now, though, he’s done all he can do to start another contraption, to start  _ something _ , in his current state and Zedaph knows he should go sleep now, he knows that there’s no reason not to, but as tired as he is, sleep feels more like mist now than rain, nothing substantial, barely there, something that will fade to nothing to closer he gets. 

But he still needs to rest, and that thought echoes in his brain in a familiar, deep voice, full of care and patience, echoed by a more humourous and slightly rougher, but still concerned, counterpart, and it makes Zedaph wince as he covers his ears before sliding down the stone wall behind him. He’d been such an idiot, why had he ever even accepted Tango’s offer, why hadn’t he been able to act normal, why couldn’t he have played out some sort of reason to explain his behaviour? He’d done it before and, sure, it hadn’t been to this extent, and the reasoning had been different, though the same two people come to mind, over and over again,  _ but still _ , and Zedaph wants to start over, wishes this day could be given a second chance but, by now, he realises that it’s too late for that and the thought that everyone  _ knows _ , that they all know, whether because Zedaph is a lousy actor or because rumour spreads quickly, it’s making the panic set in again.

As quickly as he can, Zedaph stands up, vision going black for a few seconds, but as soon as he can see again and move without the vertigo threatening to tip him over, he is climbing back up the ladder that he’d set in place as he’d dug this hole, every cell in his body feeling like a nauseating combination of numb and stiff, a sort of cold settling in that Zedaph can feel in his bones.

When he ends up crawling into bed, careful not to disturb his pets, the soft snoring does manage to alleviate some of the rising anxiousness coming back again, as it always does. It feels like a never ending cycle, by now, something that he thinks he’s escaped when he tries to find his footing, to get himself back on track, but in the end, it all comes crashing down again, the storm growing harsher beneath the calm looking waves. 

Zedaph closes his eyes, squeezes them shut until he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming, but, in the end, he does manage to fall asleep. 

He wishes he hadn’t.

* * *

_ It’s not a dream, not this time, it’s not some weird sort of vision that will elude him once he comes back to the land of the waking, it feels like a manifestation of something real, it feels  _ real _ and  _ true _ , but precisely that scares him about it. When Zedaph looks down, he can see his own body, though it is dressed in clothes that, as familiar as they seem, he can’t quite recognize, and he can see the glimmer of gold on his skin, like a wash of paint over every inch of it, like an  _ infection _ , and still, it doesn’t worry him as much as he thinks it should. He doesn’t have any shoes and, as far as he can tell, he is standing on some sort of glass surface, though judging by the cold, it seems more appropriate to call it ice. Despite that, he isn’t really cold, or he’s been cold long enough that he’s grown used to it. _

_ Nothing about his surroundings, nothingness fading into slightly blue-tinted fog, makes sense, though perhaps it is some frozen over ocean. It’s not the place itself that makes Zedaph squirm in place, muted terror filing his chest, no, it is simply the way familiarity and wrongness come together in a sickening mixture. He doesn’t feel like a stranger here, but he doesn’t feel welcome either. _

_ It is after a few minutes of nothing happening that that changes. _

_ Out of the blue, his vision starts blurring, dark spots appearing and bubbling around the edges of what he can see. Zedaph trembles and rubs his eyes, but it doesn’t seem to help. Slowly, he starts losing control of his limbs, his fingers only twitching every so often by his side as Zedaph tries, and fails, to open his mouth and yell for help, but he is alone until he isn’t. _

_ With the last vestiges of his sight, he can see something,  _ someone _ emerging from the mist. They’re still far away, but their steps seem to shake the cold surface of the ice, their figure only a shadow that Zedaph can already tell belongs to someone that would loom over him and, instantly, his fear takes hold of him. He manages to squeeze only a few words past his lips, and though they are quiet and strained, the figure seems to hear him nonetheless. _

_ “ _ **_Let… Go…!_ ** _ ”, he sounds angry, almost, but he is afraid, more afraid than ever before. Zedaph isn’t sure where the words come from, but they feel genuine. _

_ Laughter. Zedaph can hear laughter and something feels heavy on his tongue, something sharp.  _

_ His eyes fail him just as he catches a glimpse of two glowing, yellow eyes. The figure manages to get a few words through before Zedaph collapses onto the ice. _ _   
_ _ “⎓𝙹⚍リ↸ ||𝙹⚍.” _

* * *

Zedaph wakes up with a gasp, laying face down into a sandy shore, half submerged into what he assumes is the ocean bordering the desert in front of his base. Heavy rain plasters his hair against his forehead, but it also allows Zedaph to feel something other than the confusion of waking up here, of  _ remembering _ whatever the hell that had been, and it is pain, dull and burning against his skin where the water droplets hit it, the cold clashing with the tender skin. On trembling forearms, Zedaph manages to turn himself over until he is lying on his back, but his lower half is still in the cold water of the ocean. As he gains the opportunity to look down at his body, and he does, the sight of blood shocks his system to the point where it makes him dizzy. 

_ No _ , he says to himself as he manages to sit up, dragging his legs away from the waves that lap just at the soles of his bare feet still. He’s still dressed in the clothes he’d slept in.

_ No,  _ Zedaph whispers, almost desperately, to himself, as standing up pulls at whatever wounds he’s managed to gain while asleep, while caught in a dream, in a  _ nightmare. _

_ No,  _ rests on his lips, but Zedaph refuses to say it outloud, as if someone would be able to hear him.

He almost vomits as he stands up fully, his eyes watering, hands still on his knees as he waits for his nerves to settle, but his heart is beating so hard in his chest that Zedaph can feel it fluttering in his very fingertips where they clench around the ripped material of his trousers. He’s so cold that he can’t help but shake, despite the way it makes more blood pool on his skin.

Slowly, because anything else seems to be enough to make Zedaph fall over, he starts walking, every bone in his body hurting with it, as if his very core had been bruised somehow, and he can feel the blood dripping down his fingertips and leaving a small trail in the sand, the ocean having already washed away the red silhouette of where he’d laid until now, and he squints as the grey of his mountain base comes into view, the dull green of the grass shining white as thunder strikes above it. Zedaph wonders if he will make it into the base. His body doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about that wager but he pushes on, exhaling shakily as he does. 

The pain and paranoia are blinding enough that, other than making it home, there’s no other though in Zedaph’s mind right now. He just needs to take another couple of steps and he’ll be safe. The door is now in front of him, and Zedaph sighs as he drags himself along.

Just.

A little.   
More.

He collapses again, falling to the ground with a thud, before he can even lift his hand to press the button above the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph wakes up on the shore in front of the dessert near his base, partly submerged in the ocean. He is shaken and panicking and quite a bit delirious after his latest dream. There are injuries of unknown origin all over his body and he tries to make it back to his base, but as pain and paranoia grow, he collapses in front of the iron door. It is raining heavily outside.


	19. All Together Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tango and Impulse pay their friend a long overdue visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this done for a few days, but only now got around to actually proofreading it, I hope you'll forgive me and, if you're reading this on the 31st, I hope you have a wonderful New Years night with your loved ones, stay safe and all my love goes out to ya ^^

Tango tries to keep on sleeping even after Impulse wakes up and, really, neither of them are early risers, but Tango assumes Impulse is just a bit anxious right now and, usually, Tango would try to drag him back to bed himself, but as it stands, he can’t quite ignore the issue at hand and he doesn’t want to, though, as he hears the shuffling of Impulse getting dressed and the fumbling for breakfast downstairs, Tango attempts to get at least a few more minutes of rest in the warm bed. It doesn’t really feel the same without his boyfriend though, so, slowly, Tango gets up, rubbing at his eyes as he groans in the empty room. The sunlight filtering through the window is still weak and Tango really has to wonder just how much rest Impulse had gotten if he’s up and running this early where he would usually stall for a bit more time himself.

In the end, Tango just shakes his head and yawns as he pulls his clothes on, running a hand through his hair and messing it up further in lieu of combing it. He looks at the bed and the thought of arranging the sheets and blanket crosses his mind, but with a  _ nah _ , Tango makes his way downstairs, hands in his pockets, expecting Impulse to, albeit sleepily, be fumbling with making himself a coffee in order to function for the day.

Sure enough, already dressed up with his usual black and yellow t-shirt and pants, Impulse is leaning against a wooden counter, face held in one of his hands and eyes closed as the water sizzles on the stove. There’s two cups next to him, and Tango wants to thank him and maybe tease him a bit, but by the looks of things, Impulse is more asleep than awake and, really, it’s typical. 

Instead, Tango settles for walking up to him and supporting himself with a hand on the counter as well, his other arm wrapping around Impulse’s waist. It drags him down enough for Tango to plant a soft kiss on his lips and, suddenly, Impulse eyes shoot open, warm brown almost panicked for a second before he notices Tango. The surprise gives way to a flat, but also very fond stare, and Tango has to smirk as he leaves another kiss on Impulse cheek, nipping at his skin with sharp teeth before pulling back when he hears the sound of the water starting to boil.

“Early bird doesn’t suit you, Impy”, Tango teases with a grin after. Tango’s cup is still steaming where he holds it close enough to breathe in the rich smell of it, Impulse’s on the counter, already half empty, because he is a madman, who is now rummaging through their cupboards for any food he might be able to find, but it’s been a hot minute since they’ve actually spent time together here, and that hurts, just a little bit. They are here now, though, and the thought is comforting. With projects going on and still being in the more time-consuming part of their own routines with them, Impulse and Tango have seen each other more in passing more often than not and, though they’ve been together for long enough to be comfortable even during the periods that are spent apart. Still.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit longer, Impulse laying out some older bread before warming that up on the stove too and, with a bit of jam from a dusty jar, it’s not too bad. It’s calm. 

Then, as they clean up the table and Tango is busying himself with cleaning the dishes, he feels Impulse’s head resting on his shoulder. There’s a sigh against Tango’s nape and Tango turns his head just so, dropping the last mug into the dish rack before turning around to lay a hand on Impulse’s arm.

“You good, man?”, he asks, softly, red eyes slightly narrowed, and Impulse takes a moment to answer.

“Do you… Happen to have anything planned for today?”

Tango thinks about it. He does have to continue digging a hole underneath the shopping district for his next project, but it’s not something that can’t wait. He wonders what Impulse is planning as he shakes his head and hums inquisitively.

“Why, wanna go out today?”, Tango continues with a lopsided smile and a wink. Impulse laughs a little, his gaze warm as he looks down at Tango and leans into him just a bit more, but there’s a sobering sort of change in his expression after the moment passes, something more serious settling in place, though Impulse is still smiling, as he always is.

“Maybe later”, he ends up saying, “But I was wondering if we could go visit Zed?”

It doesn’t surprise Tango and, despite the tentative way it is asked, Tango is glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to bring it up himself, because one of them would have had to. He smiles gently and pulls Impulse down by the hands he settles on his shoulders, just so he can kiss him, short and sweet.

“It’s still early”, Tango offers, but Impulse can probably tell from the tone of his voice that it is a yes and something like relief makes his features soften from their earlier tenseness.

“Yeah, but then he’ll be home, at least?”, Impulse says thoughtfully before he tilts his head slightly sideways, one of his eyebrows raised.

“Smart, smart. Good thing none of us like waking up early, then”, Tango chuckles and Impulse joins him in.

They spend a few more minutes in the kitchen before finally putting the dishes away and equipping their elytras and packs, Impulse side-eyeing Tango when he goes to poke at a hole in one of the wings, therefore ruling flight out, which isn’t really a problem, given how clase all of their bases and even this starter house is to Zedaph’s, but Impulse still laughs warmly at the way Tango pouts before he, gently, jabs his elbow between his ribs.

Then, they are on their way, hand in hand, still joking and laughing along the way, perhaps in order to allow some of the tension that seems to rise higher the closer they get to the mountain range to dissipate.

It seems to work well enough, but there’s still a moment of hesitation as both of them stand before the iron door. There’s not really any sounds coming from within the Cave of Contraptions, but then again, most of Zedaph’s animals and farms are behind the cave, tucked in a little nock between the mountains and, given the size of it, which had probably grown since the last time either Impulse or Tango had seen it, is big enough that they wouldn’t hear Zedaph tinkering about with some of his newest inventions.

It makes sense, but it still has Tango on edge, it’s still somehow… Off. But maybe Tango is just overthinking this. He turns to look at Impulse and, if he had thought he was worrying, it doesn’t even hold a candle to the look on Impulse’s face, a combination of contemplation and quiet worry obvious in the set of his jaw and the line of his lips. Tango squeezes Impulse’s hand in his and Impulse sighs, closing his eyes before his shoulders drop somewhat. He looks to Tango, attempts a bit of a wobbly smile, and holds a hand out to knock on the metal door. They both know that Zedaph wouldn’t have anything against them just making their way inside his base, it’s never been a problem between the three of them, but for politeness’ sake, they wait a few seconds. 

When nothing happens, Tango shrugs and presses the button, stepping inside and gaping a little at just how much the cave had changed since he’d last been here. He can see the outlines of what he thinks will become future contraptions, but even so, it is that much bigger now, more of the stone dug out, the ceiling rising higher above their heads. However, the familiar sight of Zedaph’s bed, of the contraptions Tango remembers seeing when they’d last been here, are comforting in a way. But there’s no Zedaph in sight.

“Maybe he had to wake up early for a time sensitive project. Or maybe he didn’t sleep? You know how it is”, Tango says, lowly, as if afraid to disturb the eerie silence, and he wonders how much of it is to comfort Impulse and how much is meant as a reassurance for his own growing concern. Something doesn’t feel quite right and Tango cannot put his finger on it, but he swallows and moves deeper into the cave. There’s nothing obviously wrong this time around, but it still feels that much emptier without its owner. 

Tango looks around as Impulse wanders over to the hole where Zedaph’s storage resides, looking down into it in the hopes of finding their friend, maybe, but Tango eyes the backdoor, in the meantime. 

“I’m gonna look at the farms, be back in a sec”, he calls out to Impulse. 

“K. Found this hole down here. Doesn’t seem to lead anywhere, but I’ll check it out just in case.”

Tango waits for the affirmative before walking onwards, smiling lightly at the idea of Zed curled up in some miscellaneous corner, covered in redstone powder, having probably fallen asleep while still working on something, but he is quickly brought back to himself by the way his steps echo a bit too loudly for his own comfort, though it’s still not enough to make the uncomfortable silence fade away. Maybe that’s why everything feels odd, the fact that none of the redstone is firing, the fact that in a base filled with contraptions, everything is turned off, and it’s not like Zedaph had ever focused on efficiency, he’d always prefered idle machines that work over time. Maybe it’s not even the lack of sound that makes everything feel the way it does, maybe it is everything just being so… Still. Lifeless, in a way. 

Tango shakes his head and opens the door. He can see the outline of a tunnel that will probably become the entrance to the gardens in the future, none of it is dug out just yet. It’s a fond reminder of Zedaph’s propensity for working underground.

At first glance, nothing seems out of place. The farms are mostly temporary and Tango can see some minor changes to the setup of them, but other than the gathering clouds signifying rain, there’s nothing different that could help him find Zedaph. 

Perhaps due to his optimistic streak, Tango still walks out onto the soft grass, if only to take a closer look in the hopes of finding  _ something _ . Logically, he is aware that Zedaph could just as well have gone to the shopping district or that he might just be visiting another hermit. Maybe he has a project in the works somewhere else, and those options make sense, they do, Zedaph may be a bit more reserved when it comes to worldwide events, but he still likes visiting people every so often, when he can work up the courage to do so, but it’s just…

Tango is just worried, and for once, he has to wonder if maybe he should have intervened sooner, should have watched out for the signs more than he has, should have intruded on whatever had been going on, back when they’d found Zedaph and he’d been-

But dwelling on the past, thinking about could and should haves won’t help either of them now.    
Tango sighs. His eyes narrow a bit when he catches the subtlest movement at the edge of his vision, something shuffling over through the sugarcane. A splash follows and then a small whimper.

Now, Tango doesn’t necessarily see himself as a pet person, mostly because he does get very attached, but he has enough projects and wouldn’t want to leave his little buddies unattended to, but that doesn’t mean that he is made of stone, and, suddenly, his worry grows exponentially.

Walking over reveals exactly what Tango had feared and he has to close his eyes for a second just to allow his senses to calm down, to allow  _ himself _ to think through it without the filter of growing panic. As he steps around the water trenches dug through the sugarcane patch, surrounded by soft soil and wet sand, in some places, Tango pushes the plants aside carefully, looking around, only to then nearly stumble over a ball of wet, white fur as it whimpers while Tango passes by.

“Cliff?”, he calls out, gently, crouching in order to assess the shivering dog, and a sniff of his hand has Clifford unraveling from where he’d been cowering, “What are you doing here buddy?”

Tango isn’t really asking why Clifford is outside, rather, he is wondering out loud what would make what he remembers as a little puff of fluff and loving energy curl up amongst the sugarcane. Obviously, Clifford doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t protest when Tango picks him up, simply letting it happen, tail hanging loosely in the carry and Tango knows that something has definitely happened now.

He makes his way back to the backdoor, careful not to jostle the dog too much form where he lays in Tango’s arms, still shivering slightly, though that is no surprise given the fact that his fur is wet and the weather isn’t that pleasant and only growing steadily worse. Tango runs a hand through his scruff and it seems to make the dog relax just a little bit, which makes things easier. Clifford had grown since the last time Tango had seen him. Maybe Impulse will see something that Tango currently can’t, is what he hopes as he goes back to the cave

That is, until, with a sharp squawk, a bird flies at Tango’s head, nearly scratching his eyes out as it settles where Tango’s hand had been petting Clifford just seconds ago.

The blue parrot looks at Tango with beady black eyes, but Clifford turns just so in his arms, pressing his nose until the bird moves from where it had been standing stock still, as if waiting for Tango to make a wrong move, and it relaxes, somehow, and then it looks away, settling in Clifford’s fur. 

“Friend of yours?”, Tango asks as he changes his hold in order to not drop the dog, but the short bark that comes in reply is a bit less weak, a bit more like what he knew Clifford to sound like, and that is reassuring, at least.

And so, with a dog and a parrot clutched in his hands, some raindrops already falling down around him, the rain only bound to get heavier, Tango enters the cave again, and, promptly, almost stumbles over Impulse.

“Sorry, you were taking a bit and I was already finished so-”, but Impulse stops in his tracks when he notices the two pets, Tango assumes, starring a bit dumbfoundedly at them before looking back at Tango and frowning, “This… Doesn’t really bode well...”

Tango nods tersely, but that is when Clifford rouses from the almost worrying state and jumps out of Tango’s arms. It’s startling enough to make Tango let out a short yell that he will later deny, but Clifford is skidding against the stone floor of the base until he comes to a stop in front of the iron door, where he sits down, staring at it almost expectantly, and the shock has Impulse sputtering beside him, until the parrot follows suit, chirping quietly as it settles on Clifford’s head.

“Think they noticed something we didn’t?”, Tango asks, turning to look at Impulse’s flabbergasted face, but after blinking and waiting, Impulse shakes his head.

“Maybe? But it’s just… I don’t think he’s here Tango.”

It’s exactly what Tango had not wanted to hear, yet it is the same conclusion he’d reached, subconsciously. There could be any number of reasons as to why Zedaph wouldn’t be at his base and, were the context different, Tango would have been comfortable with that knowledge, it would have been enough, but they both expect something else, now, and really, Tango is also worried for how this will affect Impulse, but, beside him, Impulse sighs and looks around once more.

“Guess we’ll just… Have to visit another time”, he says, voice barely loud enough for Tango to hear, and Tango reaches out, throwing an arm around Impulse’s shoulders.

“Impulse...”

“No”, despite the way he relaxes slightly at the touch, his voice is forcefully blank and it makes Tango tighten his hold, “It’s fine. We just… He’s fine. He’s gotta be, right? Being anxious won’t help us right now. I’ll leave him a message and ask for when he’ll be available. Maybe I should have already done that... ”

Tango clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, not allowing the sentiment to fester, already knowing what Impulse is implying, and as much as they are both worked up about Zedaph, this isn’t something for Impulse to blame himself over, either.

“You did what you thought best. I just wanna check on Cliff and maybe leave him some food and we can go. We’ll talk to him another time”, is the answer Tango settles on, spoken a bit too seriously for his own liking, so he pats Impulse’s shoulder and smiles.

“Imagine the laugh he’ll have when he finds out we worried like fools and he’s probably just having a grand old time doing Gods know what somewhere else”, Tango says, mostly teasingly, but he knows it’s a way to reassure both himself and his boyfriend.  _ It’s gonna be ok _ , is the sentiment Tango is trying to get across, and if it isn’t, they will have to handle things as they come. 

It seems to work as Impulse smiles a bit awkwardly and kisses Tango’s cheek before pulling out his communicator,

“Fair enough. Let me just send Zed a message and-”

And then the front door opens, slamming against the wall loudly, startling Clifford and the parrot. There’s the electrifying apprehension of some sort of hope that fills the room as the silhouette of whoever had decided to make such an entrance stands in the door, but they’re too tall to be Zedaph, they hold themselves differently than he would, and Tango deflates until they step forward into the brighter, albeit still soft, light of the cave.

_ Xisuma _ , yellow armour shining with rain, steps through the door and his helmet is off, dark brown, almost black curls glued to his forehead and dripping droplets over the bridge of his nose. There’s a firm look in his eyes, one that speaks of urgency, and Tango frowns.

“Gods, am I glad you two are here”, Xisuma mutters and, as much as he tries to keep his voice normal, Tango catches the tone of it.

However, only when he steps closer, front door closing automatically behind him with a click of the button deactivating does Tango notice something else. Xisuma isn’t alone.

Half-clinging, half-hanging off of Xisuma, mostly hidden behind him, is Zedaph, and it  _ should _ have been a relieving sight.

It isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, it's really hard to write from Tango's POV *sweats*  
> I'll probably end up going over it again at one point and changing certain things, but his usual little ticks didn't quite fit with the vibe, so I'll have to think of a better way to indicate them, or at least have them make an appearance at least dialogue-wise. I'm still learning how to write better, but thank you all for sticking around for such a long time. It means the world to me that everyone has been so kind in the comments, providing both just the sweetest words, some really interesting thoughts and even some jokes that left me smiling :)  
> I couldn't have asked for better readers and I hope that the next "arc" of this little story will be up to your standards, friends <3  
> Now, I'll finish rambling, I hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^


	20. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xisuma calls a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helo, how are you all? I'm sorry for leaving y'all hanging like that, but I'm working on this fic, even if I take on a few smaller, simpler projects on while doing that, cross my heart!  
> And, well, I guess things are getting a bit more interesting, aren't they? :>

He doesn’t look like himself, the way blank eyes stray forward, but doesn’t seem to see anything, his gaze hazy as though the storm clouds from outside had taken refuge there as well, and aside from the obvious, he doesn’t seem to be hanging off of Xisuma as much as Xisuma is the one holding him, the surprising amount of force there seeming to pul atl him further.    
But the obvious, the  _ blood _ , is concerning enough, and Xisuma just looks at Zedaph’s two best friends in hope of getting an answer, but there’s nothing other than confusion there as well. Helplessness doesn’t seem to sum up the way Xisuma feels, if anything, it feels like an understatement.

“What’s wrong with him?”, comes the hesitant question from Impulse. He doesn’t sound like he is smiling anymore, but the quiet change is eclipsed by the way Tango doesn’t waste time on words and simply jumps forward, worry tinted in something akin to anger furrowing his brows, and before Xisuma can shout out a warning, Tango has Zedaph by the shoulders, looking down at him and almost toppling as Zedaph attempts to drag both himself and the very much surprised Tango towards  _ somewhere _ .

The momentum does surprise him, but Tango grits his teeth and grabs hold of his friend as Xisuma had before, red eyes flittering between his boyfriend, his friend and Xisuma himself, as if the answer rested between the three of them, somewhere.

“What the  _ hell _ ”, Tango all but yells, his voice carrying the echo of the cave like thorns that only make Xisuma feel more frustrated at not knowing. But… With Tango holding Zedaph back, who is still pushing to keep going with more force than his halfhearted gait would have one believe, especially with how  _ gone _ he looks, Xisuma notices something, the metallic glimmer of yellow, stains of it having crawled up his arms like the veins of a plant, the colour reaching his neck and creeping in on his blank face. Just as well, a white wolf with a ribbon that almost melts into its thick fur starts barking from somewhere around them and he has to step back as it approaches them. Xisuma assumes that it belongs to Zedaph, and his suspicion is confirmed when it quiets down once it gets no response from its presumed owner, its ears dropping and its tail no longer wagging.

“I don’t know. I found him at the entrance of his cave. I had… Something to discuss with him, but he doesn’t really seem like himself right now.”

The explanation is still shaky around the edges, but mostly firm. The image Zedaph presents is terrifying, but at least Xisuma can see no visible wounds on him and, for the moment, that is enough. 

Just as something small and blue peeks out of the dog’s fur, Impulse’s tense tone makes itself heard, despite it being whispered almost reluctantly as he stares at his friend with something like pain in his eyes. 

“He was acting weird yesterday too. Same look on his face, confused,  _ scared _ all of a sudden and, just as I was about to ask him if he was alright, he snapped out of it”, Impulse says and Tango shakes his head. He must have noticed the lack of wounds too, because he sees the way some of the tension drains from Tango’s face. Something clicks and he looks toward Xisuma. 

Xisuma expects an accusation, deep down, something about keeping secrets from Zedaph’s best friends, about letting things get this bad, but maybe Tango knows Zedaph better than that, knows that he wouldn’t want his issues aired out into the world, and maybe that’s why he sees hurt there, in the twitch his lips, in the raised line of his shoulders.

“You knew”, Tango breathes out, and Impulse catches on, because his eyes widen and he goes to looks through Zedaph’s chests once more, without a warning, as if an idea occurs to him, a broken elytra being thrown to the ground where little droplets of blood still fall from Zedaph’s clothes, “The fool told you something about  _ this _ and then just… Just…”

Xisuma’s face scrunches up sympathetically and he goes to clap a hand on Tango’s shoulder, the reaction prompting a new wave of struggling from Zedaph, but Tango’s white-knuckled grip seems to be enough to keep him back.

“I didn’t know what to do. I would have thought that, if things got worse, he’d say something, and then other issues popped up and...”

Xisuma thinks it’s not too good of a reason, but Tango nods understandingly and Impulse is back before Tango can find his words again, a new, unenchanted elytra in his hands, dust forming a cloud around him as he straps it onto his own back.

“Let’s take him to spawn”, Impulse decides, and Xisuma can only agree, being struck with the idea that there might be a wound somewhere he can’t see, where the slashes in Zedaph’s clothes don’t reveal enough to complete the full story, but before Xisuma can reach for Zedaph until Tango prepares for flight too, a particularly hard tug makes Tango let go and, by the time either of them react, he is running towards the storage hole, opening some trapdoors and swiftly climbing down the ladder that Xisuma can just see the beginning off.

Impulse is after him and, seconds later, so is Tango, but Xisuma is frozen on the spot.

As he finally makes his way over to ladders that seem to go endlessly downwards, Xisuma starts thinking. Perhaps Zedaph is sleepwalking, which would explain the he doesn’t seem to be entirely there, but the blood is still an open question, the advance of what seems to be some sort of growth might as well be an unsolvable riddle and Xisuma still doesn’t know if he has the whole story, what with Zedaph’s own reluctance and with his missing backstory. It feels like trying to grasp onto mist, but Xisuma has to keep trying.

When Xisuma finally reaches the end of the downwards tunnel, he is faced with Impulse holding Tango back and Zedaph facing a wall, his back turned to them. Something about it feels wrong, like it isn’t meant to be seen, just like a glitch that leaves holes in the worlds they visit, the magic miscalculating and revealing what it never should have.

And then Xisuma realises that Zedaph is murmuring something, and he cannot really understand any of it, but he strains his ears to try and hear more either way.

_ “ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹!¡.” _

Though Xisuma doesn’t know enough about it to speak it fluently, he can tell what this is.  _ Endish _ . Something is different about it though, it isn’t the shy questions of an enderman that all of them are familiar with, nor the educated, albeit stiff way that a cleric or an evoker would ennounciate it, its sounds the way magic feels, a touch of thunder that doesn’t have enough energy to hurt, the promise of an ocean behind a weakening damn, the softness of a summer’s evening, it sounds like music, almost, but Xisuma isn’t scared by the way Zedaph speaks it, although he hadn't known that anyone beside Joe could speak it, no, what he is scared of is the way it sounds like an exchange, not someone half asleep talking to themselves, it’s a  _ conversation _ .

_ “ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ'ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ⍑╎ᒲ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ᒲᒷ.” _

Tango turns to look at Impulse and, something, an entire unspoken conversation is exchanged with a look before Impulse lets go and steps back. Tango doesn’t, surprisingly, run straight at Zedaph to drag him away, but he approaches cautiously, which is a good idea, given the way Zedaph raises his voice next. Xisuma finally grasps the fact that Zedaph doesn’t sound like himself , almost as though someone were puppeteering his voice instead, and that is terrifying enough.

_ “╎ ᔑᒲ ʖ∷╎リ⊣╎リ⊣ ⍑╎ᒲ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ!” _

Tango is just steps away, hands raised cautiously, as if he were approaching a scared animal, and, in a way, the metaphor is fitting enough.

_ “⍑ᒷ ↸𝙹ᒷᓭリ'ℸ ̣ ꖌリ𝙹∴ ᔑリ|| ʖᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷.” _ , Zedaph murmurs, so low that Xisuma barely hears him, and he sounds wounded, hurt, but in a way that is overdone, an act of empathy, a sweet poison clambering at the edge of the unknown words.

Surprisingly, for a few long seconds that last a lifetime, it is quiet. Tango stops in his tracks too and Xisuma can see that Impulse is holding his breath. Zedaph himself doesn’t move, until he does, a tremor starting like a gentle breeze that grows stronger, leaving him shaking like a leaf in a hurricane by the time Tango finally takes hold of him, by the time he mutters one last word, one that Xisuma can actually understand.

_ “||ᒷᓭ.” _ _   
_ It makes dread and something more adamant kick Xisuma into action, and Zedaph collapses into Tango’s arms and Impulse grabs his rockets before the unconscious body of his friend is, as carefully as can be, given the situation, tossed to him. Xisuma knows what is happening before it does and he only has time to give Impulse a nod before he takes off with Zedaph, flying through the narrow opening at the top and then, after the slam of an iron door, out into the rain, heading for Spawn. 

He exchanges a look with Tango and, not a second later, the two of them follow in Impulse’s tracks.

As he flies over the ocean surrounding the Cowmmercial District, heading for the small isle in the middle of it that is left, at least on the surface, untouched, Xisuma pulls out his communicator and sends out an alert. It’s not one for emergencies, but it does let the hermits know that a group-wide meeting will take place this evening and that Xisuma will be at spawn, unreachable until then

* * *

For every new world the hermits visit, Spawn has always been the one project that they would all participate in, not because they don’t collaborate otherwise, but because it is supposed to fit whatever needs all of them may have individually in a time of crisis, and really, it’s not a particularly massive build, nor is it the best one any of them have built, but it serves its purpose. Stress should know that best, she’d grinded for quite a few weeks to get all the ingredients she would need to supply the place with a few sets of potions in case they’d need them, mostly healing and regeneration, with some fire resistance, water breathing and invisibility thrown in for good measure.

But she doesn’t know why she is here now.

The franky worrying alert message from Xisuma that had been sent to all of them is,  _ technically _ , why, but at first, Stress cannot tell if anything is supposed to be wrong. To be fair, it isn’t an emergency meeting, either, but... 

Xisuma hasn’t shown up yet to the spacious meeting room, but that’s to be expected, however, the rest of the hermits are sitting in their chairs, the table empty of any cursed objects or files documenting a particularly dangerous glitch, as had been the case for past emergency meetings, Demise comes to mind, making her wince, and nobody looks harmed, Stress concludes, but it is only once she notices the three empty chairs on the opposite side of the long table that she puts the pieces together, a worried sort of protectiveness furrowing her brow.

She feels a hand on her shoulder then and some of the tension that she hadn’t realised was building up is released on her next breath. She looks at her girlfriends on either side of her and forces a smile on her face. False keeps her hand on Stress’ shoulder, but her blue gaze sweeps the room with a slight furrow between her brows. Cleo, on the other hand, leans in a bit closer, and she isn’t smiling, the wounds on her face smoothed over with careful neutrality. She knows something, but she won’t reveal anything now, not when it’s probably going to be spoken about. Stress sighs and leans into their touch.

The chatter around her grows steadily louder as all the hermits are left to wonder the gravity and nature of the situation, but there are some people who remain quiet, the same sort of look in their eyes as Cleo’s and Stress really doesn’t like that, because she always worries, it comes naturally, the urge to protect those she holds dear, and she feels a bit lost, just on the edge of helplessness right now. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

All discussions die down when three people show up in the doorway leading to the small medical area, something grave in the way they hold themselves and, as Xisuma settles at one end of the table and the other two, Impulse and Tango, make their way to their own chairs, an uncomfortable, tense hush falls over the room.  _ So it is Zedaph _ , Stress concludes, and it doesn’t ease Stress’s apprehension.

If it is a medical issue, she can only hope that it’s nothing too bad, that maybe him being injured, and Gods, Stress hopes it’s minimal, if something at all, is just a consequence of why the meeting is happening in the first place, because Zedaph is a bit of, and it would usually be a bit funny, a fond thing to have a giggle and smile about, but he’s a bit  _ hermity _ , he keeps to himself, he doesn’t visit as much as the others might, and if something has gone wrong, Stress cannot help but imagine him being alone through it. It’s a sad possibility, one that False helps vanish with another squeeze of her shoulder. Stress exhales.

After a few more moments, Xisuma, his helmet off, a harsh look in his eyes, speaks up, loud, not angry, but serious in a way that is a bit worrying still. He sounds like he is at a loss, like he is tired but has too much work to do to sleep just yet, and Stress’ expression sours a bit further.

“For now, there is no reason to panic”, he begins, and he always says that, and they all know that by now too, because fear has never been useful in these situations, but it’s a reassurance of sorts, a verbal comfort, because that means that, whatever this is, they will get through just as they have until now, or so Stress hopes, “But for safety reasons, maybe for logistics too, I think it’d be better if we had this talk together.”

A pause. A long breath drawn before Xisuma continues.

The hermits hold their breaths, because they aren’t blind, they can see that one of their own is missing, but the somberness on Xisuma’s face when Bdubs, Beef and Etho had gone missing is absent, so at least that comforts Stress somewhat.

“He’s just resting”, and, at the words, Stress notices the way Tango and Impulse hold hands under the table, knuckles turning white, as if to ground themselves, “Zedaph is fine. Whatever injuries he might have suffered are gone, but I think that something may be wrong still. As some of you may know...”

Cleo stiffens. It’s barely noticeable, but Stress tenses up with it and, in return, False sends her a short, gentle sort of look, but Cleo shakes her head.

“Something’s been wrong with our friend. We will try to figure that out, at one point, and maybe some of you will be able to share an informed opinion, but for now, the facts are as follows: I found him near his base, covered in blood, his clothes slashed, but without any visible wounds. He acted odd enough that it didn’t seem to be the usual delirium of blood loss. His condition is stable, but if something managed to hurt him without making him respawn, and if the wounds healed, even if we didn't find traces of a healing potion, then I think this might be something that should worry all of us.”

The last sentence almost seems to echo, and Stress knows that’s silly, because the room is not nearly empty enough for that, the soft banners on the walls mostly trapping the sound instead of bouncing it back, but something about its meaning lingers.

It seems like it is False’s turn to be struck by realisation, because her eyes widen and she whips her head towards Xisuma.

“X, what if it’s… That  _ thing _ ”, she asks, and it doesn’t seem like any of them know what she means by it, but Xisuma nods in understanding. He hums as he thinks about it, whatever it is, but before he can form an answer, TFC’s voice drifts over the table from where he stands next to Xisuma, something about it soothing in the way that only TFC can be.

“If we are talkin’ about some cryptic entity, I think I might be able to help.”

And they know that TFC’s sources in regards to glitches and things that shouldn’t be is extensive, if a bit on the mysterious side, but Xisuma only considers it for a moment before he smiles and shakes his head.    
“Not just yet. But after we have all the details, I think that offer will come in handy. I… It would be good to put all the information together.”

TFC claps a hand over his back and Xisuma takes a deep breath. He seems like he is about to say something else when a crash makes itself heard. Tango and Impulse are on their feet before any of the other hermits, but Cleo is quick to follow as the two pile into the medical area they’d just left. Everyone else hangs back and the conversation, a jumble of theories and concerns and whispered consolations for unspoken fears mixing together until the sounds becomes too loud to decihpher whatever might be going on in the other room. 

That is, until Zedaph himself, supported on either side by his friends, walks out, a blanket hanging around his frame, covering his body up to his neck, but failing to conceal the shiver of his limbs and, Stress squints, something else, the edge of yellow gold that just about touches his jaw in tendrils over his skin, like some sort of tattoo, dark traces of dry blood slicing across his face innocently.

His eyes are wide and he doesn’t look like he wants to be here and Stress feels like the noise is not helping with anything, and so-

“Now,  _ if we could calm down, loves _ ”, Stress says, firmly, not that loudly, but the tone is enough to make the hermits stop in their tracks, seemingly finally taking in the situation as well. 

Xisuma’s eyes flitter between Zedaph and the other hermits, and as everyone goes back to their places, only a murmur of the earlier chaos remaining, he watches as Impulse and Tango guide Zedaph to their seats, placing him between them this time.

“Well, then… I suppose we could get into that conversation right now”, Xisuma mumbles and brushes a hand through his fringe, looking even more tired than before, though also somewhat relieved.

“Alright”, Xisuma claps his hands together, and when he looks at Zedaph, he is met with confusion and that same unpleasant awkwardness from before, visible in the way he cringes when he notices that more than one pair of eyes are on him, though he tries to cover it up with a clumsy smile, “Zedaph, can you recall how you got into this state?”

And he looks just slightly out of it, perplexed because of something Xisuma said, but then it seems to click and purple eyes take in the room, the expecting gazes, the silence vibrating with unspoken questions and held back comments. Stress feels for the way he seems to shrink back, the blanket around his shoulders creasing where the outline of his hand can be seen through the white fabric, but if the fact that the blood hasn’t stained it says anything, it is that whatever state Xisuma is referring to must have happened a bit ago.

Stress leans forward a little bit, just as False flattens her back to her own chair, arms crossed over her chest, something about the way she holds herself telling Stress that she is thinking about something.

Zedaph opens his mouth, closes it, takes a breath, and then frowns. He looks at the floor and finally speaks, and it’s quiet.

There’s nothing about his voice that should be worrying, because it doesn’t sound like he is injured, but Stress has never heard him be this quiet without a need for stealth or a play of theatrics at hands, and she doesn’t like it. From the looks of it, neither do the other hermits.

“Probably just… Sleepwalked somewhere. Don’t remember much about it. Maybe I fell or had a not so pleasant encounter with a mob or something”, is his explanation, and Stress wants to believe that that is all, but from the way Tango’s brows crease, he must suspect something else. False’s words return to Stress.

“I...”, another breath that fades into a sigh and, with a shake of his head and a smile that is as wide as it is forced, he looks at his fellow hermits with a careless expression, “I’m sure it’s probably nothing though. So… Why  _ are _ we here? What happened while I was, uhm, out of it, let’s say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zed, you fool.


	21. In Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honesty is a virtue, people often say. Zedaph likes to tell himself that this time, he's found the exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, sorry if it's been a while, but welp-  
> Back to Zed POV we go, I hope this chapter is fun to read through ^^

Zedaph almost chokes as he returns to himself, his mouth feeling bitter and dry and his eyes aching with the effort of keeping them open, but the darkness behind his lids feels oppressive too, in a way, not leaving him a choice in the matter. Still, Zedaph’s body protests with the movement of trying to lift himself up, and Zedaph has to wonder how long it’ll take the blurriness of his vision to dissipate, if only so he could maybe tell where he even is, because if there is one thing he can discern, it’s that he isn’t home, and the feeling of wrongness from his dream, the uncomfortable itchiness of it, that makes him feel jumpy, it sticks with Zedaph as he, shakily, runs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

Not remembering what he’d been dreaming about is not a surprise, Zedaph thinks to himself, it’s happened often enough by now that it is one of the only consistencies in his day, but the question of where exactly he is and, maybe, more importantly, how he got here plague him as he blinks some of the dark spots in his vision that arise when he tries to stretch his back, gasping as dizziness follows the motion. If he’s somehow sleepwalked again, then that might be understandable, but as far as Zedaph can tell from the feeling of a soft, if a bit on the thinner side, blanket bunched at his waist and the brush of fresh bedsheets against his hands, which he uses to hold himself up, he is laying in a bed.

One more inhale and Zedaph feels alive enough to look around himself without the impending doom of collapsing back against temptingly soft pillows, but something feels rough too, his skin just on this side of tender, the smell of a clean room permeated by something more metallic, but Zedaph ignores it in favour of taking the room in.

Dark gray walls edged by blues and greens line his vision, shelves of potions and medical supplies arranged neatly on a shelf just on the opposite side of where Zedaph’s bed is and a few chairs on the side of the bed come into view and, suddenly, Zedaph knows exactly where he is.

With his shoulders hunched down, Zedaph blinks a few more times, biting into his lower lip, perhaps in hopes of the pain waking him up if it is a dream, because  _ why is he in the medical area of Spawn? _

He’d not been on the team that had worked on building this place, sure, but Zedaph still remembers a small tour paired by a few emergency protocols that Xisuma reiterates whenever they visit a new world. It had been early on enough that nothing had, seemingly, changed yet, and it feels distant enough that it’s only the dejavu and the slightest familiarity of potions that take more than a simple brewer and a few ingredients to make, some of Stress’ finest, that convince him that this is real.

But if he  _ is _ in the medical area of Spawn, and he doesn’t  _ feel _ like he is too badly injured, even if Zedaph hesitates to look down at his own body, the fear of spotting gold almost something he obsesses over by now, then why…

**They know, they surely** **_must_ ** **know, now** , Zedaph hears his own thoughts echoing back to him, and the apprehension with which they echo in his mind makes him shudder, hands fisting into the thin blanket still covering his legs.

_ Maybe only Xisuma is here _ , he tries to reason with himself, because if  _ that _ is true, then nothing changed, except for the fact that Xisuma might realise that there had been some new developments that Zedaph had, cautiously so, avoided telling him about, and the thought is more reassuring than any of the other hermits finding him somewhere else, unconscious, no way to hide what is going on, and realising that something is wrong, but it still terrifies Zedaph, and he just isn’t sure anymore, at this point, if he’s just trying to avoid worrying anyone else in an attempt to solve everything himself or if something else makes his breaths escape him in short pants that allow the dizziness from earlier to return.

**You have to hide. You have to** **_leave._ **

It stops Zedaph in his tracks, confusion the only thing keeping him from hyperventilating himself into further unconsciousness. Hide from  _ what _ , he’d like to ask himself, his friends, his  _ family? _ Because, at this point, Zedaph has no idea what is happening to him and, if he is being honest with himself, which he’s avoided for just about forever now, since everything’s started, he’s just wanted to go back to sleep and wake up, realising it must have all been an intricate dream of some sort that kept going and going and going, but Zedaph knows that that isn’t true. He inhales quietly, closing his eyes and flinching as an image that seems burned into his retinas just about manages to appear for a mere second before fading away, an afterthought, an illusion, a memory of sleep, a face that he doesn’t recognise.

Zedaph doesn’t know what to do anymore, and he is tired enough that his fears starts swirling around his head, indistinguishable from the thoughts that send him spiralling, but beneath it all, beneath all the things that could have gone wrong going wrong, beneath the paranoia, beneath the wish to hide where no one can see, a voice still manages to infect it all with a single, ominous line, and it sounds like himself, but not.

**Your time is running out. You need to remember, now** .

But Zedaph  _ can’t _ .

In his frustration, Zedaph grabs his own head and brings his knees up to his chest, curling up in a ball on the bed, just wishing he could do something, anything, to make everything go away, but as he does, Zedaph can see the silhouette of yellow fingers, the texture of them, reminding him of marble and sandstone and something more glassy than that, but he blinks and he cannot bring himself to open his eyes again.

Zedaph doesn’t even notice he is leaning sideways, as focused as he is on drowning his thoughts out with a mantra of  _ it’s not real, it’s not what you think it is, it’ll go away, stop thinking about it,  _ **_stop-_ **

Until he falls off of the bed, arms and legs flailing until Zedaph is all but tangled in the bedsheets and blanket, sighing with annoyance and a cold ache spreading through his side.

It’s only once it stops that Zedaph takes note of the noise, the constant chatter of more than one voice from a room close by, which Zedaph assumes is the meeting room, and the way Zedpah’s heart drops in his stomach makes him stop just about instantly, his heart beating so fast with the adrenaline of pure, unadulterated realisation that, no, it can’t just be Xisuma here now, and he holds himself still enough that it hurts, his muscles shaking as the constant strain of tension continues, but Zedaph cannot let go, not until the idea of someone seeing him like this enters his mind and, then, fast enough that it makes Zedaph feel like fainting, he picks up the blanket off of the floor and wraps it in around his shoulders, hoping the weird condition of his skin hasn’t spread to his neck already, but he can’t quite get further than standing on his knees on the floor near the bed. He’ll just have to make an excuse about the floor being colder and him finding it more comfortable, Zedaph thinks as a shiver goes down his spine. 

He doesn’t have time to think up a less stupid excuse because, the next thing Zedaph knows, there are people entering the room.

“Zed? Zedaph, are you-”

Zedaph doesn’t expect to hear Cleo’s voice, so when he looks up at her bright green eyes and sees the way the widen with shock, he knows the expression is mirrored on his own face, but then Impulse and Tango burst through the door, barrelling past her, and Zedaph only has time to let out a relieved little sigh as he clutches his blanket tighter around his body, one layer to hide behind surely not enough, but still better than nothing.

And still, when hands take hold of him, gently raising him off of the floor, Zedaph doesn’t find the energy to protest, letting his friends hold him up until gravity stops shifting around him, but maybe that’s just Zedaph’s own centre of balance. He does his best to avoid looking at either of their faces, but Tango is speaking to him, brows creased together, something in the red of his eyes showcasing his concern clearly enough that it makes Zedaph swallow at the lump forming in his throat as he tries to focus back in on the words his friend is saying. He wants to reach out, until he remembers why he shouldn’t, his hands painfully gloveless, and so Zedaph settles on a small smile. He barely catches the tailend of a question asking about Zedaph’s state.

“I’m okay, just not very… Balanced, right now, I suppose”, he says quietly, and Tango frowns before shaking his head, wrapping an arm around Zedaph’s shoulders to both help support him and to reassure himself that Zedaph is fine in a way that is more physical than just a smile and a little white lie. Zedaph turns to Impulse, knowing that he won’t be as easily persuaded, and is left to gasp as a hand reaches for his face, big and warm, brushing a few strands of hair aside before settling on his forehead. There’s a long exhale from Impulse before he stops looking at Zedaph as though he’d seen a ghost, but he doesn’t smile, and Zedaph knows it’s his fault. It gnaws at him, the guilt of it. He looks up at Impulse and shakes his head.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Impulse, please stop worrying about it. I really am-”

Impulse hugs him with no preamble, Tango joining in and wrapping his arms around both of them. Zedaph has to focus, has to clench his fingers until they hurt under the blanket to not let himself melt into it, to not let the comfort of it get to his head. If he had had any decency at all, Zedaph wouldn’t think about how much he enjoys the feelings of his best friends hugging him, would see it as nothing more than platonic, and the fact that he doesn’t eats at his heart. He can’t close his eyes and let the feeling of comfort get to him, Zedaph knows, but with the way Impulse’s hand has moved to the back of his head, he still allows his head to rest in the crook of Impulse’s shoulder, eyes following the lines of the room until they fall on Cleo, still waiting in the doorframe.

There’s something thoughtful about the way she assesses the situation, the spark of something akin to revelation making her face seem less suspicious and more curious and, for just a moment, Zedaph thinks she has him all figured out. She keeps looking at him, at all three of them, and then she smiles.

It’s almost surprising, the shift of her features, as if she’s seen exactly what she wanted to see, but still has some questions left, and Zedaph can only hope that she doesn’t think this embrace means anything other than the fact that Impulse and Tango are good friends, good  _ people _ , and Zedaph is taking advantage of it without them even knowing, because any other conclusion would be a false hope, a lie that Zedaph cannot let himself even think about, lest he start believing it, which is much easier said than done when Zedaph feels Tango’s breath, warm and barely there, on the back of his neck, something about the tickle of golden hair making Zedaph want to both never let go and to run as far away as possible. At least, if she is thinking about Zedaph’s issue in regards to his friends, then everything else is still safe from her watchful eyes. That fact barely consoles him at all.

Cleo leaves just as Impulse starts speaking, and it leaves Zedaph with nothing else to focus on but how Tango’s heart beats against Zedaph’s back, even through all the fabric, the rhythm slow, calming, and how Impulse’s voice is barely more than a whisper, the timbre of it low and almost raspy, emotional, in a way, and it almost breaks Zedaph a little.

“We need to talk, after this. Please, Zed...”

Zedaph can’t find it in him to say no right away, instead just opting to sigh for what feels like millionth time since waking up and to pull away from his friends before his brain starts seeing something where there is nothing more than kindness and not the sort of love that Zedaph’s stupid heart yearns for.

“I...”, Zedaph gulps, looking at his feet, bare on the cold floor, the edge of ripped trousers peeking through, something dark staining the material in places, but Zedaph feels no wound that could have caused that, so at least there is that, “Why are we here?”

“We’re worried about you”, Impulse says, sounding as though he is dismissing Zedaph’s question completely before continuing, his words tying together in the confused jangle of all the things Zedaph can’t quite remember that would have brought him or, really, any of them, here, “You seemed hurt, but you weren’t really. And you were acting strange.  _ Something _ is wrong. This is why we’re here.”

Zedaph wants to deny anything being wrong, but he doesn’t know enough to come up with an explanation on the spot and, in the split second it takes him to gather his words, Tango intervenes instead.

“Whatever happened, if it hurt you, it could try again. Or it could come for any of us. And...”

Zedaph thinks the world stops around him as the words sink in. Had something attacked him?   
Because if it’s something outside of his own mess, if it tries to hurt any of the other hermits, then… Zedaph bites his tongue, panic rising in his chest, but he keeps it under wraps for now, flinching despite himself as Impulse tries to place a hand on his shoulder. Impulse pulls back as if burnt.

“And I think  _ you  _ need help.”

It’s an ultimatum, Zedaph realises. 

But if something could pose a danger to the people he’s come to love, if something is wrong and Zedaph has no say over it, if something is hurting the others, then that is enough for Zedaph to take a deep breath and look between a warm, brown gaze and piercing red, a decision made.

**Do you think these are really separate issues, then?** **_  
_ ** Zedaph doesn’t bother answering himself, because if they aren’t, he knows that it would all be his fault, and Zedaph has always been a coward. He will avoid the oddness that is the timing of these events and, though deep down he thinks there might be a connection, nobody needs to know, so long as Zedaph can help solve whatever this is, can stop putting the people he loves in danger.

“I’m fine”, Zedaph says, for good measure, and he takes another step away from Tango and Impulse and towards the door, only for his knees to start wobbling, his muscles working against him, his body still on the verge of shutting down, “Let’s… Go talk about it then. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by… Whatever happened.”

The finality of Zedaph’s own words seems to be enough to shut down whatever cutting remark Tango had been about to make, but the two still help Zedaph walk into the meeting room, regardless of his silent protesting, and Gods, Zedaph loves them so much and he hates himself for the nature of his love.

But now is not the time for his own stupid feelings. If something poses a threat to the hermits…

* * *

_ What happened when I was out of it? _

The explanation that follows sounds mechanical, as if Xisuma has said it before, but there’s still compassion there, and Zedaph ignores all of it as he makes a mental checklist of the events. Wounds that bleed enough to warrant a respawn, but disappear soon after, unconsciousness, odd behaviour, none of it seems to point at anything particularly dangerous, but it is weird, Zedaph concludes. The discussions around the table, still whispers, mostly, at this point, pick up a bit with some theories of what it may be, False standing up from her chair to approach Xisuma, something decisive on her face, both him and TFC listening intently, and Zedaph takes the time to try and think it through, muttering nothings to himself as he clutches the blanket a bit tighter to his body.

He thinks about the magic needed for the respawn ‘rule’, for how it is only possible in smaller worlds precisely because no amount of harvested magic and enchantments and sacred objects can grant that sort of safety net on a scale as big as the commons. He thinks about what makes a healing potion, well,  _ heal _ , about whether he knows any sort of mob or being that could heal a wound, and a witch comes to mind, but no witch would attack the hermits unless provoked, and if Zedaph’s own theory about having sleepwalked outside is true, he doubts he would have attacked anyone or  _ anything,  _ and so he keep thinking. He hadn’t eaten anything that would grant him its healing properties and Zedaph knows that, sometimes, if a hermit’s health is good enough, they will heal faster even from less pleasant injuries, but even that would take days, and from what Zedaph can tell, it would have had to be hours.

Not respawning if the injuries had healed themselves makes sense, but it almost looks as if the injuries  _ had _ killed Zedaph, leaving him to wake up in his own bead with tattered clothes and everything.

_ Xisuma found me outside though, right? Did I sleepwalk again? _   
And none of the questions Zedaph thinks about have a solid answer, because it’s all speculation, he simply doesn’t remember, and the helplessness of it might be why Zedaph’s mind starts drifting. 

He no longer wonders if a new mob or a glitched one had been ar fault, as some of the murmurs seem to attest to False seeing, instead, Zedaph thinks about waking up to see the night sky, thinks about being trapped by the diffused white light of the moon and the stars and, somewhere deep in his mind, he almost thinks he hears a voice, a hum of one at the very least and it…

Someone is shaking his shoulder.    
It’s not Tango or Impulse, they had stood up at one point to join False’s conversation with their leader, and they seem quite caught up in it for now. No, it’s Cleo.

Her wild red hair is pulled over one shoulder, exposing one of the many scars on her other body, the gnarly line of it coloured a fading blue, just slightly lighter than the rest of her complexion

“Whatcha thinking so hard about, Zed?”

Her tone attempts to be lighthearted, if a bit rough around the edges, as it always is, but he can tell that her words hold more weight than that. She takes Tango’s place on his right, muttering something about borrowing, and then there’s no escaping her. Not that Zedaph would really want to. In her own intimidating, sometimes fun way, she’s always been a comforting presence for Zedaph.

“Just… This whole thing”, he says, simply, and Cleo smirks, shaking her head.

“Complicated, isn’t it?”

Zedaph nods and makes to run his hands over his face before remembering. Cleo must catch onto the attempted movement, because she looks at him a bit more intensely now, but there’s no accusation on her face. Still, Cleo has never been the sort of person to put up with anyone’s nonsense, so her next question shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does.

“So, what’s wrong, Zedaph?”

Zedaph knows for a fact that she is asking exactly what Zedaph hopes he would never have to answer, and he can’t help the stunned silence that follows.

“Noth-”

“Zedaph.”

He never could lie to Cleo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am thinking, at this point, we're quite close to some big reveals, thus the climax and, a bit later, the end of the story.


	22. In Tandem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedaph decides that he needs to at least try and solve his own mess. Xisuma makes a decision for the safety of his hermits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it warrants a tag, or if there even is a tag for this, but as has been the case for most of this fic, Zed tends to have... Worrying thoughts. It will make sense later, but yeah.

“You know...”, Cleo begins once it becomes apparent that Zedaph doesn’t intend to break the awkward silence that settles between them, instead focusing on all of the other people around the table, most of which have drifted into smaller groups, discussing the matters at hand among themselves, and though no one is looking at him, Zedaph still feels watched, a shiver running down his spine for just a fraction of a second before he can tune back in on Cleo’s words, “If you don’t have the words to say it yet, that’s fine, but stop denying that something  _ is _ wrong, Zed.”

_ Yet _ .

He looks at his lap, at the weave of the blanket covering his knees, and he cannot seem to discern which aspect of those words worries him more, the fact that he will have to give an explanation eventually or the fact that he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to explain it in a way that is… Not  _ this. _ A flash of blue appears before Zedaph’s eyes, only to be replaced by what he remembers of the changes that have left their mark on his skin. He’d shown Xisuma his hands because that had been something physical, but anything other than that, Zedaph still wonders how much of it is his own paranoia making him see things that simply aren’t there. He isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to trust his own words, his own senses, but that’s not something he can tell Cleo. Zedaph sighs.

He thinks he catches a glimpse of dark eyes looking over at him, but upon gazing up, Zedaph can only see the back of a dark blonde mop of curls and the red of Grian’s sweater.

After thinking for a moment about how to respond to that, because Cleo expects something, and Zedaph can see it in the way she raises an eyebrow, her mouth twisting a bit and pulling at the scarred tissue of her cheeks, but she still looks only mildly annoyed, enough so that Zedaph feels bad for not coming clean, but not necessarily pressured into doing so either. He’s never been sure how Cleo manages to do that. 

“It’s not important.”

_ Perhaps a different approach is better _ , Zedaph thinks, because Cleo can see straight through his denial, but Zedaph isn’t lying when he says this. He truly believes that, whatever this is, especially when compared to a problem that might become a threat to his family, he will be able to solve it. Eventually. Maybe Xisuma will find some information, but Zedaph doesn’t want anyone else dragged into his mess. 

“Clearly”, Cleo rolls her eyes, her intonation hinting at sarcasm, “That’s why nobody sees you around anymore? That’s why people are worrying? That’s why you’re here? Because it’s not important.”

There’s a bit of disdain to her tone now. Zedaph frowns, his chest starting to feel heavier all of a sudden, his fingers digging into the ripped material of his trousers beneath the blankets. What Cleo means about worrying people is probably meant to be a reassurance that this issue, too, needs solving, but Zedaph can only focus on the fact that people are worrying, when it’s  _ fine _ , or, it will be. It is nothing, and Zedaph has to keep telling himself that, the feeling of control slipping through his fingers something that makes him all the more helpless, makes him that much bigger of a burden.

No. This is something he has to solve. But will Cleo agree with that?   
“Well, I… I didn’t mean to. I promise I’m working on it”, Zedaph whispers, softly, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath before he can bear to face Cleo. There’s a hard look in her eyes, but she must see something in Zedaph’s expression, because it softens just the tiniest bit, around the edges, turning into something that makes the guilt weigh even heavier. Some form of concern.

**They can’t know** , Zedaph hears, and he agrees, is almost confused as to why his own mind would echo that back at him. He is aware that he needs to help himself in this, because it’s his own mess, probably his own fault too, the cause being something he must have done wrong without even realising.

**No.**   
Zedaph frowns. Cleo remains silent a bit longer.

**The moment they know, it’s game over.**   
It sounds like a threat. Zedaph doesn’t understand it, but thankfully, Cleo interrupts his meandering thoughts with a gentler voice than before.

“No one can solve all your problems.”

Zedaph nods, hopeful that this might be the end of their talk, allowing himself to latch onto that, onto the fact that he  _ is _ right, that he cannot just pile this on the other hermits, not unless it’s a danger for them, because they have their own problems and Zedaph can,  _ should _ be able to handle this on his own and-

“Least of all I”, she goes on, however, and Zedaph’s face scrunches up, ever so slightly, something in the cavity of his chest shifting the way the guilt had been building again, and Zedaph recognises it as a sort of panic, the type that makes his hands go cold and his words disjointed, though he tries, in vain, to gulp and to lessen its impact, “I don’t think I have the  _ ability _ to solve all your problems.”

Zedaph knows that something else will follow the statement, but he doesn’t want to hear it. Cleo doesn’t leave him a choice, cupping his face in a firm, but almost cautious way, as if she were actually afraid that he would run away. Zedaph wouldn’t dream of it. He’s always been the type to freeze in place, anyway, but for once, he doesn’t want to face something other than what he’s already told himself, something that could give him another point of view to lean on, because it all feels… Wrong.

“But that doesn’t mean you should be doing everything on your own either.”

It hits him like a punch, but it isn’t the pain that lingers, but the way his muscles ache afterwards, and Zedaph thinks he’s going to be sick. 

_ Please don’t tell me that, I don’t know what this is. I don’t want other people involved in something that I don’t understand. I don’t want them to face anything like this for my sake. It’s fine, I can handle it _ , Zedaph keeps telling himself as he blinks hard, but Cleo’s green eyes are firm, gentle in a way that Zedaph has never seen before, lost in another time. 

“Zed, I… I know it’s hard. I won’t pretend that I know whatever is going on. But I do know that trying to do everything alone, that willfully ignoring people’s help, it… If you think that will make you happy, you’re wrong”, she explains, lowly, and Zedaph wonders if this is a lesson she’s had to learn on her own skin, if this is why she wants him to reach out, but Zedaph… Can’t. Maybe she had been right before. Maybe he can’t do that  _ yet _ .

“Cleo...”, he wants to reach out and comfort her, but his damned hands and the damned blanket make him hold back until he can lean his face into her shoulder, the weight of her mirroring his gesture comforting and welcome. And still, the words force Zedaph to look inwards too. Is he trying to keep himself happy with this decision of his, to keep everything under wraps for as long as possible? Is he trying to invalidate the fear of hurting other people? Does he just… Not trust them, or does he not trust  _ himself _ ? The fact that Zedaph cannot answer should be worrying, should make the tightness that has seized him even worse, but it’s at this realisation or, really at this edge of a conclusion that still lies half-wrapped in the shadowy confines of his own mind, that the numbness sets in. He doesn’t want to think about it right now, but it can’t be avoided forever. It’s just too much right now, and so his brain lets him bask in the lack of feeling anything at all instead.

“I mean it. Just… People can help you. Your friends can help you. You’re not alone, and you never will be again. Who knows how the others might be able to help if you let them?”, Cleo whispers, a smile evident in the way her words are shaped, in the way they are breathed into Zedaph’s own shoulder, a bit of humour shining through, “We tend to be a pretty creative bunch, us hermits.”

Zedaph closes his eyes and buries his head a bit more in Cleo’s shoulder, sighing when a hand pats him on the back, cold fingers tracing circles on his shoulder blade comfortingly, but Zedaph cannot relax, he cannot find something definitive to say back, he doesn’t know if he should even say anything. Everything feels a bit distant right now. Perhaps…

“I know… I  _ think _ I know...”, Zedaph finally says, “Cleo? Did you ever need help but didn’t think you… Should have it?”

The words sound weird when he says them outloud, because speaking something that had only been a feeling lingering at the back of his head is as hard as it sounds, Zedaph realises, and remorse kicks in almost immediately, because know he’s continuing the conversation, he’s asking for something personal, and he  _ knows _ Cleo, cares for her, but he still shouldn’t get ahead of himself, not when-

Cleo pulls back, a small smirk on her face. It just about makes Zedaph’s thoughts stop for a moment.

“Well… Of course. I think… Well, really, true strength comes from weakness too. An acceptance of them. Vulnerability is key. But it’s hard to be vulnerable. I think most of us know that, on a personal level. It comes with… The history we have.”

Zedaph has a fair bit of knowledge on what she’s talking about. He thinks about what he knows of his fellow hermits’ backgrounds, thinks about what they’d shared, and he can see where a need to be secretive might arise, and Grian comes to mind, he can see where self-reliance could turn almost obsessive, and Zedaph’s thoughts turn to Doc, and Zedaph has to take a moment to realise just how much he knows about his friends and how little he’s given back in his time with them. The question of trust comes back to him again, but he knows that, even if trust had been the problem, Zedaph wouldn’t have had what to hide, because he doesn’t have any information to hide. He shakes himself out of the spiral before it latches onto him and drags him down. He looks to Cleo almost helplessly now, something weak in his mind telling him to listen, telling him that this is important too, no matter what conclusion he’ll reach in the end. He eyes Cleo curiously, some of his less pleasant thoughts drawing back a bit.

“I, personally, thought I could handle myself just fine after I came back to life. The, uh,  _ crowd _ that chased me out of their village, pitchforks and torches and everything, begged to differ”, Cleo recounts, humour clear in her voice, retrospective making the pain of the past something easier to deal with, but Zedaph can tell that it’s still something Cleo thinks about sometimes from the thoughtful furrow of her brows, “It’s then that I met Joe. I didn’t want to ask a stranger for help, obviously, even when he offered to… How did he put it? Sweet talk his way into getting me a better cut in life? Gods, but he always had some smart word or another. And so he became my friend. He made people stop being afraid of the zombie lady going through their settlements and I helped him out when it was clear that words wouldn’t be enough to get him out of whatever mess he’d spoken himself into.”

Zedaph listens intently, smiling weakly together with Cleo when fondness slips into her voice. When Zedaph had joined the hermits, the friendship between Joe and Cleo had already been cemented, years of back and forths and of trust and of inside jokes making them look as though they’d always known each other, but this makes it seem realer, in a way, deeper too, it gives their bond a background, one that Zedaph had always wanted to but hesitated to ask about.

“And then, after some time, our travels lead us to a certain armoured man and here we were, making new friends”, for a second, Cleo’s attention falls on Stress where she is talking to Iskall and Mumbo, Scar next to her, before switching to False, “Learning to care for new people.”

Cleo’s features shift into something serious, then, and she looks at Zedaph again.    
“Take your time, but know that you don’t have to do everything on your own. You suffer, everyone does, but don’t do so in silence for fear of inconveniencing others. Don’t let your assumptions get ahead of you. We care for each other. I don’t know how your life was before you joined us, but you’re not alone, not  _ here _ , yeah, Zed?”

Zedaph whispers it under his breath, and he wonders if Cleo hears it too,  _ I don’t know either _ , but she just claps her hand on his shoulder and gets up, looking down at him with a bright green eyes, the image of confidence, but of comfort too, and it’s an odd combination, but it works perfectly for her.

“Then, take care of yourself, Zedaph.”

Zedaph nods and smiles, genuinely, if tiredly.   
With that, Cleo goes to join Stress, throwing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her forehead with a soft smile. Zedaph stares blankly at nothing in particular instead, his thoughts silent for the first time in a while. Slowly, some of the things he had already known and Cleo’s words come together in the form of a sort of plan, something half-thought through, a rough outline really, an idea, but Zedaph is too tired right now for something more developed than that. He tunes into the background that is all the conversations developing around him and lets himself close his eyes, drifting into a state of mind that is more closely related to sleep than the waking world, but the words floating around him keep Zedaph tethered.    
And then there’s a hush. 

Impulse and Tango are making their way back to their own chairs and everyone is settling back in their places, Xisuma placing his helmet back on, signifying the fact that this meeting is about to end. Tango cracks his knuckles while Impulse rubs at the back of his neck, but despite the obviously nervous ticks, they seem slightly more relaxed, and when Impulse notices Zedaph looking at them, he smiles and leans back into his chair enough to bump shoulders with Zedaph. On his other side, Tango uses Zedaph’s other shoulder to support his own arm, resting his chin in his palm and sighing. Zedaph doesn’t have time to blush at the proximity, and he thinks he might be too drained, emotionally and physically to have any sort of stronger reaction or to fall down the rabbithole of his brain for the second time today because of how his foolish heart beats in his chest, because Xisuma stands up, a note of finality to his voice when he addresses his hermits.

“I have decided that a creature that False saw a few nights ago, which disappeared when she approached it, might be the culprit that we’re looking for, but there’s no conclusive evidence”, Xisuma explains, and there’s a few nods and murmured question around the table before he continues, “For now, we shall be cautious. I want you to stick together. Form groups. Live with another fellow hermit for a bit, just in case. TFC might be able to help identify it, but until then… Be safe.”

The dismissal isn’t explicit, but it’s clear enough. The shock of his words, of the decisions that, when Zedaph thinks about them, make sense, but feel a bit sudden still, and it takes him long enough to process them that, by the time he stops blinking and staring off into the distances, Tango and Impulse are already gently pulling him up on his feet and guiding him out the door.

“Where-”, but Tango interrupts gleefully before Zedaph has time to finish, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, Impulse looking at both of them with a soft smile, his brows still slightly furrowed, but he looks much calmer now, and Zedaph has to wonder exactly why, when-

“You’re coming with us, buddy. ‘Cause of safety and all.”

Silence follows before Zedaph can’t help but laugh softly, painfully. He’s too exhausted to think about why that would be a bad idea or why he should protest. He follows his friends, still clinging to his blanket as they lead him to the Nether portal in the Cowmmercial District.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing are about to change. Sorry it took me a while.


	23. Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the truth on the verge of being revealed, everything stands still.

There’s nothing obviously wrong with Zedaph as they make their way through the Nether and back to Impulse’s and Tango’s shared home, at least not at first, but just like his base had been when Impulse had been there earlier today, he is quiet, scarily so.

Impulse thinks he might just be tired, and he doesn’t blame Zedaph for it, of course, but it doesn’t quite sit right with him. After all, he’s been there for both his boyfriend and their best friend when they were sick after a particularly rough off world adventure, and he’s seen how Zedaph reacts to being unwell, cracking more jokes than usual, being all forced smiles and denial, but this is just… Nothing. It’s nothing like the Zedaph Impulse knows and it frightens him. It makes him wonder just what the problem actually is, and he doesn’t have an answer. 

Both he and Tango try to support him though, because he looks like he is about two steps away from collapsing, but where Zedaph would laugh and try to pull both of his friends down with him, this time, he just lets them drag him along. His eyes seem a bit unfocused and Impulse feels hesitant about trying to get Zedaph’s attention as he is right now, but as he usually does, Tango throws him a calculating look before his red eyes soften just so at the concern in Impulse’s own helpless gaze. The wooden structure is just a few feet away now, but Tango still slows them down and, where their hands come together at Zedaph’s back, he intertwines their fingers, giving Impulse’s hand a squeeze, which Impulse returns, albeit a bit more weakly.

“All good buddy?”, Tango asks, casually, but it’s the slightly softer tone that cues Impulse in on the fact that Tango had noticed something being not less than ideal as well.

It takes Zedaph a few seconds before he realises that Tango had been talking to him, and when he does, he blinks a few times and tightens his hold on the blanket around him. His brows are drawn down and his mouth settles in a thin line and the expression pulls at the dried blood on his face. Impulse has to shake his head to get the image of Zedaph laying on the white sheets at Spawn, unconscious, blood staining his clothes and-

“Why wouldn’t I be?”, and it’s now that something seems to return to Zedaph’s face, because he raises a suspicious eyebrow and smirks, though the effect is lessened by how pale he looks and how the bags beneath his eyes look like bruises, not quite dark, but discoloured and splotchy instead, “After all, I even managed to land a bed for the night, I’d say today is a win.”

Impulse exhales a short laugh and Tango rolls his eyes, but something about Zedaph talking makes everything feel more normal, because Zedaph’s whole presence is his words, his ideas, what he does and says, and when those are missing… Impulse feels a shiver run down his spine and, in return he tightens the hand that isn’t holding onto Tango’s on Zedaph’s arm, just enough to offer some sort of comfort, but whether its true motive is self reassurance or not, Impulse isn’t quite sure right now.

Still, as they stop in front of the wooden door of the little house, all three of them are smiling, and Impulse feels something relax slightly in the jittery mess that is his brain right now. He always lets his worries get the better of him, and it’s as much a curse as it can be a blessing, sometimes.

There’s a beat of silence between them.

“After us”, the three of them say at once, an old inside joke making them laugh as they enter the house and, like this, with the people he loves most, with a genuine smile on his face, with his worries forgotten just for now, Impulse really feels like he is home. 

Tango helps Zedaph sit down on the couch and then goes about getting a fire going while Impulse looks through his enderchest, reasoning with himself that he can use his emergency food supplies for a few days, or maybe even less if Zedaph recovers quickly enough, and then he’ll reorganise his stashes, but it still takes a bit of arguing with himself because, while this isn’t an emergency, his supplies are meant to be used, not hoarded, and so Impulse finds himself filling their kitchen cabinets with all of the food he has on him, smiling and shaking his head as he imagines Tango fondly admonishing him for, once again, worrying too much about what if’s. And now that Zedaph is with them, he would probably try to escalate things in as ridiculous a way as possible.

He takes a moment to send Joe a message asking him to take care of Clifford and Hydrangea, and after confirmation arrives, Impulse puts his communicator away again and then there’s arms circling around Impulse’s waist and a head leaning between his shoulder blades. It’s the loud sigh that follows which pulls Impulse out of his thoughts, the affection masked by annoyance all too clear after all these years. Impulse turns around and kisses Tango’s forehead, allowing himself this small moment before he starts preparing the ingredients for a dinner for three.

“Need help?”, Tango asks, knowing full well that Impulse will not allow him in the kitchen for things other than the pure culinary madness that are his deserts, and Impulse laughs as he gathers some vegetables and washes them well before searching for a cutting board. Tango hands him the slab of wood before Impulse can even open a drawer to look and Impulse smiles.

“All good”, Impulse says, honestly, but he still hears the squeak of a chair being pulled away from the kitchen table as Tango sits down, “How about you look after him while I make dinner?”

Impulse nods towards the small living room, getting more comfortable as the heat of the fire starts warming the rest of the house as well and, with the way the rain patters against the windows, it helps Impulse relax, the sounds repetitive pattern that is soothing in its own right, but especially when accompanied by the crackle of the fire, the atmosphere almost cozy enough that Impulse forgets why they are here in the first place, all three of them, and in another reality, maybe the reason would have been simple honesty followed by affection or just the three of them meeting up because they hadn’t seen each other in a while, but the present comes back and Impuse’s smile shrinks just a little, his movements slowing on the knife before he gathers himself and gets back to what he was doing.

Tango on the other hand doesn’t respond at first, and Impulse throws him a look over his shoulder, taking in his relaxed pose and the solemn look on his face. His grin is still there, sure, but he is just as overwhelmed by the situation as Impulse himself is.    
“He fell asleep, I think, and almost instantly too. Regardless, he looks...”, Tango finally elaborates with a sigh, “Dead to the world.”

Impulse puts the cut up vegetables in a pot filled with water on the stove before he walks over to Tango, cupping his face in his hands and making him look up at him. It’s a comforting gesture, for both of them.

“We have to talk to him.”

And a spark of humour lights in Tango’s eyes, a bit dull but still there.

“Oh, are we having  _ that _ conversation, mister  _ let’s not ruin this friendship _ ?”

And Impulse laughs a bit bitterly, because as much as Tango is joking, Impulse is seriously considering coming clean about everything, in the hopes that it will perhaps inspire Zedaph to do the same, because his heart is aching and he isn’t sure if he can keep it in check, isn’t sure if he can go on like this, when he knows the situation both he and Tango are in. But more than that, all jokes aside, Impulse just…

“Maybe...”, he exhales slowly, “Maybe. But I just want to know what is wrong with him for now.”

Impulse cringes at his own words, but Tango lays a hand on Impulse’s own on his face and kisses his palm sympathetically.

“I want to help.”

Tango nods slowly, an agreement. He then stands up and brings his hands to Impulse’s shoulders, pulling him lower to kiss him slowly, tenderly.

“If he’s feeling up to it, I think having an honest conversation about  _ everything _ would be best”, Tango whispers against Impulse’s lips, and Impulse makes a small noise, smiling just so before Tango nibbles on his lower lip with sharp teeth, drawing back only for Impulse to bring their faces close again with a laugh, taking Tango’s mouth in another kiss. 

They part slowly after that, touches lingering even as Impulse goes back to the stove and Tango goes upstairs to prepare their bedroom and the bathtub after making sure Zedaph is still where he had left him.

Time moves even slower after their dinner is mostly done, the soup bubbling in the pot over the stove for just a bit longer as Impulse goes to check on Zedaph.

He is surprised to see purple eyes drawn to the flickering flames, the changing light of the fire making the stillness of his features even more obvious, almost eerie in a way.

“Zed?”

Zedaph doesn’t respond. Impulse shakes his shoulder gently, and it makes him gasp, almost falling over sideways on the couch, his arms getting tangled in his own blanket. After struggling a little, he rights himself, pouting a little, and Impulse can’t help but chuckle softly, even as he helps Zedaph.

“Rude of you to interrupt a man’s daydreaming like that...”, Zedaph says, but the joking tone lacks a lot of its bite and Impulse tilts his head with an apologetic expression, sitting on the couch next to Zedaph, leaving a bit of space between them just in case, and Impulse watches as Zedaph’s eyes drift over to the fire again, but he remains more present this time.

“Sorry”, and he means it, but Zedaph smiles and shrugs.

“Don’t worry about it, Impy.”

And that is that.

Impulse takes a deep breath, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, his mind already forming scenarios. He’s wondering what to say because, now, due to everything, where there would be jokes or some conversation leading into another, where the silence would be something comfortable, there is now a drift between them, but Impulse knows that the only way to get over that gap is to bridge over and he isn’t sure how to go about doing that, not when Zedaph is like this. He doesn’t want to hurt his friend any further, but Impulse doesn’t want to stand back and watch as whatever is going on eats at him either. He cares about Zedaph too much.

“Zed… I know you said you’d tell us later, but”, Impulse starts, taking another breath when he notices, out of the corner of his eye, the way Zedaph tenses up, “I...”

Impulse doesn’t get to finish his sentence because, a moment later, not particularly silently, Tango makes his way down the stairs and all but jumps over the sofa, landing right between Impulse and Zedaph, pulling them both in as he laughs loudly.   
Some of the tension dissolves, and while Impulse is thankful for that, so does most of his courage, but at least he has his lover close now, and Tango has always made Impulse a braver man than he thought he would be after everything. He leans into Tango and watches two of the most important people in his life as they pull faces at each other, laughing and giggling together. Impulse thinks that he wouldn’t mind being faced with  _ this _ for the test of his life.

And then all three of them quiet as the sound of water boiling over and sizzling as it hits the stove fills the room.    
After the slight ensuing panic, after a dinner during the course of which both Zedaph, though he does so in more hushed tones than he usually would, and Tango endlessly tease Impulse about his mishap, and Impulse can’t do much except roll his eyes at them and kick Tango under the table after he pretends to fall over after his first spoonful of soup, Impulse comes to realise how long it’s been since they’ve been together like this. Zedaph trying to drink directly from his wooden bowl so that he can keep the blanket covering his hands is also quite a sight, but Impulse has to blink as he remembers what he, Tango and Xisuma had seen when they’d brought him to Spawn. Xisuma hadn’t seemed surprised as much as he had looked ever so slightly confused, but Tango and Impulse were entirely shocked by the way Zedaph’s skin had seemed to turn yellow, almost gold in the right light, though the texture seemed to reflect the light more like glass wood, despite it feeling as soft as always where the blood hadn’t left patches of it crusted.   
Still, it helps ease the relaxed air between them even more, and by the time they are done eating and Tango is helping gather the dishes, Zedaph looking on almost hopelessly, as if he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, Impulse has some hope that maybe tonight will yield some answers, something for him to cling onto, some way to help, something,  _ anything. _

* * *

Tango turns around once the dishes are dried and back into their places, stretching his back, then crossing his arms over his chest, and taking in the scene before him. Noting the way Zedaph is just looking at the surface of the table, the way Impulse is worrying at his lips with his teeth, Tango pieces together that, perhaps, a conversation must be had, that they have to find each other on the same page again before anything else, so Tango clicks his tongue and goes to sit down again. It would be funny, how serious they look right now, gathered around a table, not a smile to be seen, and Tango thinks it will be, later down the line, when they look back at this particular memory, or so he hopes.

“So.”

And just like that, the mood shifts, but as much as it is not a change that Tango likes that much, they would have had to talk about this, and it’s already late. Tango doesn’t want to find out what  _ too  _ late would be.

“Zed”, Tango starts, his voice gentle, because no amount of firmness will make Zedaph open up about things, but maybe showing him that everything is fine will work instead, “You know you can trust us, right?”

Zedaph takes a second before he seems to gather himself enough to respond, but he is frowning slightly as he does, even if he doesn’t look at Tango when he speaks.

“Of course… Of course I do, it’s not about trust, really.”

Zedaph keeps on mumbling and Tango raises an eyebrow. Impulse must catch onto the way Zedaph seems to be reassuring himself more than he is his friends, because he clasps his hands together on the table and his fingers tighten.

“And you know that we’re here for you. We’re your  _ friends _ , Zed.”

There’s a shaky nod at that, as if Zedaph were coming to terms with that fact, but the conflict is clear on his face, even when his eyes move between Tango and Impulse before returning to the tabletop.

“I know, just...”, his frown deepens. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he just breathes out instead, “I do know. And you two are... I… You mean a lot to me. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t avoid talking about it if I didn’t think it was better that way.”

Tango senses the avoidance and he meets Impulse’s eyes, quiet understanding passing between them, before Tango prods at Zedaph a little bit more.

“But it’s hurting you, somehow. Even before this attack, something was wrong. You said  _ not now _ when your base got flooded out of nowhere”, Tango starts, and Impulse gives him a warning look when he gets probably more heated than he should, but after years of knowing Zedaph, to see him fall apart like this and to not even be able to do anything about it, to be left in the dark, it hurts more than Tango had been willing to think about before, but it’s all coming back to him now, “And then things just  _ keep _ happening and I can’t do anything to help and-”

“Tango...”, Impulse tries, but Tango raises a hand. He’s started now, and even if something deep down is telling him that, perhaps, stripping all the walls down and exposing where his feelings are the most raw might not be the best decision he’s made in a while, he feels like it is needed. And he can’t really stop himself anyway.

“-And  _ I _ trust you and your ability to help yourself, but this feels like it’s getting out of hand. I just… Zed, you’re not on your own here. You can reach out when you need it. You’re a person, not some sort of whacky, self-sustaining redstone machine. It’s… It’s not a big deal if you reach out, you know? Not a big deal at all...”, and with that, Tango leans back in his chair, his chest feeling lighter than before, but his fingers shaking where they’re still entangled.

The following silence is deafening, enough so that Tango can hear an old clock Impulse had installed in the living room when he first got here, the one that was still broken after coming back from the side-worlds that he’d left behind to join the hermits, it’s ticking partially off rhythm, but Tango closes his eyes, not knowing whether to expect the best or the worst from Zedaph’s response, but he is an optimist at heart.

“And if it helps...”, Impulse starts, hesitantly, his voice small and low, afraid of being too loud, “When we… Us three, Tango, Xisuma and me, though I think X already knew before it got worse, we saw the blood. And we saw your hands. We won’t force you to do anything, but just… Know that you have us, right here, yeah? You don’t have to hide it.”

Both of them are looking at Zedaph now.    
Zedaph who is seemingly trying to make himself smaller in his chair, the tension lines where he is holding onto his blanket shaking with his own tremors, Zedaph who is looking down at the floor, his face is hidden in the shadows cast by the angle, Zedaph who keeps his silence and keeps his silence and keeps his silence until-

There’s a small sound, a sharp inhale that sounds ear-piercing in the overwhelming stillness.

* * *

**If they know…**   
Zedaph closes his eyes, and truth be told, he doesn’t want to open them again, because he knows it won’t be like waking up from a dream, and the realisation that this is real, that he can’t dismiss it anymore if they already saw, that he can’t keep his secret where it belongs, if it even is a secret, it makes him a bit nauseous. It’s even more sickening, the fact that his best friends are being so kind to him, that they sound so understanding, that they are taking his feelings into account, that there’s no betrayal to be heard, no accusatory tones, and Zedaph doesn’t know what to do with that. He should be relieved.

**...Then it’s already too late.**

His panic only rises, instead.

At least, if the cat is out of the bag, Zedaph is free to hold his head in his hands and hide his face from the world, to try to make himself as small as possible on the kitchen chair, and he does, the blanket falling to his elbows, revealing what Zedaph himself doesn’t want to see anymore.

_ I’m sorry _ , he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat and once he manages to force them out, they unravel off of his tongue as a whisper, small and scared and pathetic.

He says it again and again and again, because what else  _ can _ he say? This is all happening because of him, he must have done something to land himself in this situation and Zedaph still tries to think of a way to not drag the people he loves into it as well, but all it does is make the coldness spreading to his limbs and the jitteriness of his muscles even worse. He’s shaking now.

Zedaph keeps mumbling his apologies, though the words are mumbled by his own hands, when a hand reaches for him, gently settling on his back and making him jump.

“I’m sorry, I can’t!”, it feels ripped right out of his chest, too much, entirely  _ too much _ bubbling up to the surface.

His eyes fly open and the hand on his back retracts as if burnt. Zedaph stands up from the table, shakily, and tries to breathe normally, but his heart feels like it’s lodged itself up in his throat, where Zedaph can feel the way it beats too fast, making him dizzy with it.

“Zed...”, Impulse tries, and Zedaph turns his head. Impulse’s hand is still in the air, as if he were caught mid-word, mid-gesture, and it breaks Zedaph a little bit, the way both of them are watching him, waiting for something that Zedaph can’t,  _ won’t _ give. Something inside him struggles, Cleo’s words echoing around him far too loudly to ignore. 

“I’m so sorry, I...”, his bottom lip quivers before Zedaph can swallow the sentiment in his voice down, “I don’t… I don’t want to, I didn’t  _ mean _ to...”

_ To let it get this bad _ , a voice says.

“T-to...”

**To put you in danger** , another ads.

Zedaph breathes in deeply, as deep as he can, but it makes his vision crinkle at the edges where darkness eats at it, makes his chest hurt even more.

When Zedaph looks at Impulse and Tango, it’s like he sees them in another time, in another place, and they are smiling, Tango chuckling as if he’s just told the worst joke he possibly could, one which Impulse would roll his eyes at fondly, and they both seem so happy, and Zedaph wonders how long it’s been since the three of them have just… Been together. It must have been back when things were simpler, when Zedaph’s heart hadn’t yet fallen for them like the traitor it is, when everything was normal, before everything changed, but he also sees them now. Tango’s eyes are dulled by his own concern and he isn’t smiling, while Impulse looks hurt, and Zedaph blames himself, wishes he could turn back time, wishes he could go back so badly but, recently, Zedaph has come to find that his past, the void where it remains unknown to him, it  _ terrifies _ him and he doesn’t know how to come clean, how to live in the present, doesn’t know how to get out of his own head or if he wants to, even, because if it’s in his head, it’s safe for everyone else and-

And…

“Gods, I never wanted to burden you two like this, I...”, a shaky sigh follows, “You’re the people I love, and my mess is my own to deal with and-”

It’s a slip of his tongue, not dissimilar to the misplacement of a block or a redstone line missing just its final bit of dust, and Zedaph slaps a hand over his mouth the moment he says it.

It’s like the world begins to crumble around him.

“You’re not burdening us”, is said, as though it were obvious, entirely ignoring the second half of Zedaph’s statement, so easy and true and trusting that it sounds fake to Zedaph, more like a falsely sweet reassurance, and for a second, he believes that that is exactly what Tango is saying, but Tango continues speaking, standing up and moving until he is close to Zedaph, leaning against the table, one arm reaching out for Impulse as they exchange looks, “You are clearly not well, but that doesn’t mean that you’re still not our friend.”

A small nod and then Impulse is speaking and,  _ Gods _ , Zedaph wants to believe them, but he can’t, he knows he shouldn’t allow himself to do so, not about this.

“And we care for you. We’re  _ here _ for you. You can’t keep going like this, it’s clearly hurting you, Zed… You know we love you too, right?”

_ As friends _ , but that doesn’t matter, because they probably think Zedaph’s own feelings are oriented just the same and he is lying again, it’s all only getting worse because they think that they have the whole picture, but Zedaph knows it’s just a mirage, yet still wants to hide behind it, wants to escape what he knows to be true.

But now he’s crossed a line, Zedaph thinks, gone past a threshold and the door behind him has disappeared as though it’s never even been there.   
**Confess your sins and do the damage control after** , Zedaph’s thoughts advise him with a steely attitude,  **Maybe you can still spare them if you act fast enough.**

Reluctance mixed with exhaustion mixed with something blank, something that holds no face, but which has Zedaph by his neck, making him speak when the guilt already nearly drowns him, they push him forward and Zedaph glances at his hands, placing them over the ripped material of his jeans, fingers digging into his own limbs. They glisten gold, the colour spreading up his arms and onto everything Zedaph can see of himself,

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“Zedaph-”, Tango begins, almost as an admonishment, but Zedaph goes on, his voice rough with how quiet it is.

“No, Tango. You can’t know me,  _ I _ don’t know me. And this… This is all my fault, it’s my mess. It’s part of… Something from before I can remember.”

And then, painfully, Zedaph reaches out.

He cups each of his friend’s faces, almost afraid that the oddity that is consuming him will infect them too, but nothing happens, other than Tango’s growing confusion deepening his frown and Impulse leaning into the touch before his brows come together in perturbed distress.

“You… You are the first people I remember. Everything before that is… Somehow, I forgot, and that’s it. Nothing more. If I worried you and made you believe I am in danger, I am… Gods, I’m sorry. I am not your responsibility, and I’m sorry if I ever made you believe I am. You are good friends. I am sorry I never could return the favour and be what you two needed me to be.”

Tears are blurring Zedaph’s vision by the time he finishes, and the odd emptiness left behind after the confession feels comforting for a moment, and when the moment ends and Zedaph falls through it, nothing there to crash into, nothing to slow his descend, he does so willingly.

He makes to stand up, but then he is pushed back into his chair.

Zedaph doesn’t even have the energy to try and put up any sort of front right now, his face as expressionless as ever, but a disoriented little sound does fall from his lips.

“No.”

Impulse’s voice rings through the house almost too loudly, but he isn’t really raising his voice, he doesn’t need to. In another time, Zedaph would blush at that tone, at the surety of it, would tuck it away in his memories just next to Impulse’s warm smiles, next to Tango’s witty comebacks, next to both of them laughing together, but now it just reminds Zedaph of how much he messed up.

“No, you don’t get to-”, but  _ Impulse _ isn’t done, “Zedaph. Zedaph,  _ what the hell. _ ”

He is starting to sound angry and, in a way, though fear stirs up somewhere above the muddled surface of where Zedaph is sinking further into himself like lightning above a stormy ocean, it’s more relieving than the sweet understanding and kindness from before, because this makes sense. In the deeper recesses of his mind, Zedaph thinks this is familiar,  _ this _ feels right.

Zedaph draws his hands back. He does stand up now and he has to stop himself from looking up at Tango and Impulse. Maybe this is the way their friendship ends. Not with a confession that will meet its match in an unrequited, though probably sympathetic answer, not in distance and drifting apart, no, it will all end like it began. A single moment where the world stops.

**If you leave now…**   
Zedaph doesn’t need to hear the thought as it finishes, because he knows. If he waits any longer, they’ll change his mind and they’ll be hurt. He knows.  _ He knows. _

And then two pairs of arms wrap around him.

At first he feels nothing, and then… 

Then it’s like, after spending Gods know how long underground, it feels like the sun finally shining on his face, like his first breath of fresh air in weeks, like the first time he’s truly seen the world in all its colours, it feels like that first moment when they had found him.

“Zedaph, we love you. It’s not your fault. We’re here, Gods, we’re right  _ here” _ , Tango says, his words muffled in Zedaph’s shoulders as his grip tightens around Zedaph’s waist like a vice, like he doesn’t want to let go.

“And if we’re here, it’s because we want to. You are so much more than you think you are and, I promise, if you let us, we’ll help, we’ll find a way out of this, we’ll figure something out, we always do.  _ Together _ ”, Impulse sounds like he is on the verge of tears and barely holding himself back, his voice quivering as his hands circle both Tango and Zedaph, caught between them, “Don’t push us away. _ We’re here. _ ”

And Zedaph falls apart right there, whatever strings had been holding him in place, whatever gravity had been keeping his walls up now letting them crumble, and he lets go, because it’s sounds so good, it sounds so affectionate, it sounds like they mean it and, for once, just this one time, Zedaph wants to believe that he deserves this, that it isn’t in his head, and he is too tired to convince himself otherwise.    
He starts crying there, in the middle of their kitchen, held between his best friends, between the two people he loves in a way that he’s never loved someone before, and he can’t help but cling to them, cannot convince himself to move or do anything but exist like this as the weight of every terrifying moment, of every restless night, of all the confusion and the pain and the hate and shame wash over him, running him into the ground, but they hold him. Impulse and Tango are right there and they don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit longer because I thought it might have a better effect to get all three persepctives of team ZIT.  
> At one point, I thought about pushing it even further and having the rest of the scene in this chapter, but I feel like where I ended things feels ok enough? I hope at least.  
> I am not entirely sure how long the next chapter will be, but even if it's not too long, it might take a while. Sorry for that.  
> I hope you enjoyed.


	24. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are fine until they aren't anymore, and maybe they never will be again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the latest tags added.

They stay like that long enough that Zedaph feels some of the warmth of the hug seep into his cold frame, long enough that he begins wondering if Impulse and Tango are sick of him and of how he clings to them yet, but whenever he tries to draw back, reluctantly, though it may be, an arm coaxes him back in, gently, and Zedaph wonders if they need this as much as he needs this, because closeness is easy, physical affection is  _ simple _ , and his feelings seem to have crossed the threshold of what he can take for a single day, so not even his more doubtful thoughts register as Zedaph continues melting further and further into the arms holding him, feebly trying to give them the same, to give something,  _ anything _ back.

And Zedaph allows himself a moment where everything is right, crying with how much he loves his two friends and murmuring something that not even he himself can decipher under his breath, low and muffled in Impulse’s shirt as it is.

“It’s ok buddy, it’s more than ok”, Tango whispers softly, warmly, and Impulse doubles down on the sentiment by squeezing the two of them even harder against his chest, to the point where Zedaph can hear the steady beat of his heart, ever so slightly accelerated, but as grounding as Tango’s breath hitting the back of his neck.

Zedaph thinks he could fall asleep just like this, caught between them, where everything is warm and quiet and alright, but after a bit more time, long after the three of them have lowered themselves to the kitchen floor on Zedaph’s blanket, which must have seen better days, kneeling next to the table, bathed in the warm lamplight overhead and just standing together as if nothing else matters, Zedaph starts to really feel the drowsiness kick in, to the point where he can’t quite open his eyes or move without it feeling like it drains all of his energy, and alongside that, he really notices the way his skin tingles and itches with the remnants of dried blood and crusty sand.

When Zedaph pulls back, this time, they let him and, as he watches them, they exchange a tender look that makes Zedaph heart beat with affection and longing, just before that same look is turned to him. He feels almost small underneath gentle brown eyes and warm red ones, but it’s not a bad feeling, Zedaph comes to find. He, painfully, blinks once more and attempts a small smile of his own.

Maybe it still looks wrong, maybe it’s not the best smile Zedaph has ever pulled, but it feels real, and he hopes it conveys the way he feels and the intensity of it all, the gratefulness, the quiet apology, maybe…

Maybe even the love.

**You’re making a mistake** , his thoughts try to warn him, but it’s easy to dismiss his own consciousness when he reaches out for one hand from both Impulse and Tango, hoping that they understand the gesture, that they already know that he is at a loss for words about what he feels, hoping, in the back of his mind, that they take it as a token of his friendship, that it doesn’t change anything between them, not when Zedaph needs it most, when it grounds him in the here and now of the moment instead of everything else.

“Thank you, I...”, Zedaph swallows, shaking his head and, when his words tangle themselves together, making a face before even that falls apart at the softness in his best friends’ faces, “Thank you. You don’t know what you mean to me.”

“We care about you, you know? So, I think we’ve got an idea”, Tango laughs and squeezes Zedaph’s fingers before bringing all of their hands together, like they sometimes did when they were together and the night was too cold to bear alone, all three of them, holding onto each other.

“We trust you.”

And Impulse’s words say everything that needs to be said, don’t they?

Zedaph continues smiling and closes his eyes once more, committing the feeling of their hands in his, of calluses and softer patches, of the slightest scratch of nails, of barely noticeable lines where Zedaph knows scars are engraved in Impulse’s and Tango’s palms, whether from smaller redstone mishaps or bigger, scarier incidents, but the bottom line is that they’re all here, they’re all together, and with the way relief floods Zedaph, it almost feels as if he had been about to lose them, about to close a door on them that could never open again.

But they’re here. 

They’re all here and they’re safe and Zedaph loves them and he wants to try to make this better, wants to try to bring everything that he’s missed back, their interactions, the small conversations deep into the night with other hermits, the fun he used to have, the family he’s been avoiding, Zedaph wants all of it back. Maybe this is the revelation that he’s been looking for.

Maybe, in an ironic twist, he’s just been driving everyone away by building up walls, by hiding, by trying to keep them safe from a danger that he doesn’t even know. But he wants to do better. For them. Perhaps, for himself too, as a side effect.

“...I trust you too”, the  _ and I love you, more than you realise, more than words can express, _ goes unsaid.

And then Zedaph gives their fingers one more squeeze before raising his eyebrows, or well, he tries, as best as he can, especially when his face feels like lead formed into a vaguely humanoid shape, and chuckles follow. Zedaph isn’t immune to the sounds either and he feels something giddy blossom in his chest. Gods, it’s been a long time since he’s felt as present as now, as  _ here _ , as he does now, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a community like the one the hermits have slowly, lovingly built over the years, or what he can do to repay their friendship, what he can give Tango and Impulse back for everything they’ve done for him, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Now… If you don’t mind, I’ve kind of been walking around covered in blood for the day and, mind you, it’s not… It’s not very pleasant”, Zedaph says, stumbling over a breathy yawn and almost succumbing to the loud laughter that follows.

They help him up, then, and Zedaph feels almost weightless as he tries to walk, which probably explains why he sways so much and has to lean on Impulse or Tango at almost every step on the stairway.

* * *

They’ve washed together before, because back when Zedaph had first met them, he hadn’t really known how to care for himself, as they’d bluntly put it, so it doesn’t feel weird, now, for them to be sat together in a bathtub that is  _ just _ slightly too small for three people, and maybe Zedaph would be more flustered if he felt like he had enough mind power to even look at what is going on around him but, as it stands, he is all but sleeping where he leans against the edge of the bathtub, tucked in a corner, submerged up to his chin in hot water and, weirdly, the water itself smells sweet, somehow, and it only makes Zedaph feel even more sleepy.

He supposes it must be some sort of bath salt or another, maybe something made out of the crushed flowers that Stress sells at her shop, and it might also be the reason why Impulse and Tango are fondly arguing somewhere off to Zedaph’s right, their voices trailing into jokes and then into more loving remarks.

It would be a nice setting to fall asleep to, those voices he adores lulling him off into the darkness and the pleasant scent surrounding him like a blanket, but, more than anything else, it’s the warmth that comforts him together with the familiarity. Something to be kept in the deeper recesses of his memory, a comforting time to fall back to maybe.

As lost as Zedaph is in the endlessly long corridor between sleep and wakefulness, he barely feels it when someone shakes him, a whispered reminder of needing to actually clean up before the water grows cold following. 

Zedaph strains his eyes open and reaches for the small shelf were washcloths and bottled soaps reside, but before he can fall flat on his face and swallow a bit more water than is probably good for him, Impulse holds one of the bottles in front of him, a question on his face.

“Need help?”, he asks. Zedaph thinks about it and holds his hand out again, but maybe the way the soap slips through his fingers says more than he realises. Zedaph remembers a time when he would help Tango after pulling three all-nighters in a row and trying to keep him from fully submerging himself into the water, lest he accidentally drown, and it’s not like he’s not been there himself, it’s just the way they work, making sure that, if they’re going to be foolish, they might as well rely on the others and go into it together, but somehow, now that he looks at the misty surface of the water, unable to see more than a silhouette of himself, Zedaph feels something like dread rearing its head in again.

He doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to see the physical change, but the water is turning a bit rosy with old blood and maybe he should try to at least get clean. Impulse is still looking at him expectantly, but there’s a patience to it, as well, there always is.

Tango, on the other hand, squeezes the water out of a towel over Zedaph’s head.

“T-”, Zedaph sputters, “ _ Tango. _ ”

And so the decision is out of Zedaph’s hands. They’re done quickly and whatever relaxed atmosphere there had been before is now replaced by something more frazzled, Tango’s hands wondering where Zedaph is more ticklish. Zedaph tries to return the favour, but with how slow his limbs feel, it’s much easier said than done, though it still draws a chuckle out of Tango, his golden blonde hair plastered to his face, falling into his eyes, and his skin seems to shine with the light of the candles spread throughout the bathroom, his freckles standing out against his skin, his smile sharp and joyous. Impulse helps where he can, shaking his head fondly, but he still splashes Tango with a handful of icy water from the sink next to the tub, giggling lowly.

Gods, Zedaph loves them.

He turns his head away, a subtle smile on his face. With his hand resting on his stomach, though it’s still underwater, he can see the odd tinge on it, and really, at this point, there’s hardly a spot on his body not covered in this oddity. His smile falls. He wouldn't do it, if he didn’t think it meant something, if it didn’t scare him so much, but it does. so Zedaph brings his arm out of the water, flexing his fingers. Zedaph prefered the dried blood, if he is being honest with himself, has half a mind to wash the yellow away, together with its almost glassy texture, the water beading on its surface as if waxed, to scrub until he can’t see it anymore, until

new blood covers it instead, because blood makes sense, he knows blood, but he doesn’t understand  _ this. _

Zedaph flexes his hand one more time before blinking and letting it fall back into the water. He turns to Impulse and Tango instead. They’re laying close together, discussing something, and they both seem happy, their faces close. Zedaph smiles again and shakes his head, feeling the drops fall off of strands of pale hair and hitting the skin of his shoulders. He doesn’t think he has it in him to see them kiss right now, and really, he wouldn’t normally mind the sight, but it always fills him with longing for the impossible, with more affection than he can handle. No, he should enjoy himself from right where he is, because he has two wonderful best friends, and he will not allow himself to ruin that for them, not when he just got them back. This is more than he deserves already, but Impulse and Tango are kind and they let him have this anyway. 

* * *

Getting out of the shower is a bit more difficult than Zedaph would have thought, but the heat is making him dizzy and he’s so tired. He doesn’t expect Tango to pull him into their bedroom, because he would have been fine cozying himself up on the couch in front of the fireplace, but that’s exactly what Tango does, not accepting any excuses. It feels like it’s going to be too much, because for all the joy they bring him, the cracks in his heart deepen with every touch, and he’s taken enough hits to his emotions today, Zedaph realises with a huffed breath that’s more shaky than he’d like.

By the time the lamp on the nightstand next to the large bed is snuffed out, Zedaph is already sandwiched between his friends, and he fights to keep his body from tensing up.

It’s not a surprise that his limbs start going numb the moment darkness fills his vision, it’s something Zedaph has come to relate to sleeping, whether it is falling to it or waking up from it, but where he would have the freedom to twist and turn when he begins panicking because of it, he has to keep still now. He doesn’t want Impulse to move away, his chest warm against Zedaph’s back and, maybe, if things were different, he would cling to Tango’s arm where it falls over both him and Impulse, but as it stands, Zedaph just doesn’t want Tango to pull back.

It’s a selfish act and it kinda hurts but Zedaph thinks that once he falls asleep it will be easier. The nightmarish visions would be easier to stand than this.

And Zedaph almost does fall asleep, listening to twin patterns of breathing soften as they fall to unconsciousness, comfortable as can be, but his panic doesn’t stop rising. From where he stands on his side, Zedaph can see, over Tango’s shoulder, the clouded sky, but just where they part slightly, he catches a glimpse of moonlight. It feels like he can’t look away.

It’s why Zedaph doesn’t think he’s asleep as much as he is  _ seeing things _ again, because there’s a duality to it, things happening before his eyes though he knows they aren’t there, can see the fragile edges where reality shatters the illusion.

Zedaph holds his breath when it feels like he can’t get enough air anymore, because in front of his eyes, the shadows morph and they change and  _ flow  _ together, shaping things that, Zedaph reminds himself desperately, aren’t there,  _ but he can’t blink, he can’t breathe, it’s getting too cold, oh Gods _ \- 

There’s a pair of eyes, focused on him, but one of them is surrounded by shade, unmoving, the other glows eerily, as if it were peering into Zedaph’s soul and he knows _ , he knows, he swears he knows, _ there’s no sound in the still room, but he can hear a whisper, the voice of the dead ringing in his ears, in his damned head.

_ ⎓𝙹⚍リ↸ ||𝙹⚍, ᒲ|| ↸ᒷᔑ∷. ||𝙹⚍’ꖎꖎ ᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ʖᔑᓵꖌ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ↸∷ᒷᔑᒲ ᓭ𝙹𝙹リ ᔑリ↸ ⎓𝙹∷⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᓭᒷ ⊣⍑𝙹ᓭℸ ̣ ᓭ. ╎’ꖎꖎ ʖ∷╎リ⊣ ||𝙹⚍ ʖᔑᓵꖌ ∴⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ʖᒷꖎ𝙹リ⊣. _

Zedaph resists the urge to jump out of bed when it ends, but his breath is punched out of his lungs regardless of how much he tries to control himself. It’s deadly quiet for a moment, but then the pattern of Tango’s and Impulse’s soft inhales and exhales resumes and, with frail relief, Zedaph realises they’re still asleep. Everything aches with the feeling of an imaginary frost.

Zedaph sneaks himself out of bed, aware of his surroundings, but not really in control of his own movements. Somehow, he knows he is going back to his base, back to where it began happening, but it’s all so distant. It’s not a cut in his memory, not like the night before had been, when the thing had attacked him, but it’s like a film that keeps rolling with or without his will. And he is so cold as he walks out of the comfort of the house, bare feet digging into chilled earth, the pajamas pants that are too big on him dragging through the dirt and dust.

* * *

His base is empty, of course, and someone must have taken care of Clifford and Hydrangea, but it’s still eerie, how empty and dead it looks, how there is nothing moving, nothing that would mark it as some sort of creative space, nor as a lived in space, not when the ceiling feels claustrophobic and the cave itself feels endless. He can see everything, the torches and hidden lights illuminating gray, uneven walls, but it’s as though his vision were limited by a blinding potion effect. In a distant corner of his mind, Zedaph registers the fact that, beneath his feet, the stone floor is shaking, ever so slightly. Something is happening, and that same something drives Zedaph to take the ladder down to bedrock.

He feels like he is in a trance and can’t snap himself out of it, moving like a marionette, and he doesn’t even have the space in his own brain to be terrified, something fuzzing up his thoughts until they’re unintelligible.

The cold is even more unbearable down here, but he is growing used to it in the worst of ways. His senses fail him sometime after finding a hole through the bedrock layer, the shaking even worse down here.

* * *

The rest of it comes to Zedaph in flashes, a giant, purple, draconian eye staring at him through the bedrock, blood,  _ Gods _ , so much blood, diamond and netherite swords being pointed at him, and then-

_ And then- _   
Nothing.

Until the nothing speaks to him and, just like that, for the first time in years, he sees her again. He’s back, almost as though he’s never left, with her figure looming over him, tall and unflinching, her cold presence not something that can be easily forgotten, not when the hurt of the chill feels fresh in Zedaph’s mind still, even as the world spins around him in shades of blue and violet-tinted ice.

And he remembers  _ her _ .    
Zedaph remembers  _ everything _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so-  
> I hope the abrupt ending isn't too annoying, but I have a few plans!  
> I might try to write some things in advance because we're kinda in the last act for this story, so to speak, but there's a bit more to go.  
> With the scene change for Zedaph, there will be some new warnings that I will add when we get there, but I want to give you guys a fair warning that it will get a bit... Hmm, not darker, per se, but it'll definitely hurt a bit.  
> I still promise you a happy ending, but be warned.  
> I hope this chapter was an ok read ^^

**Author's Note:**

> I want to let everyone know that, while this mostly came from my head, at one point in the creation of this little project, I got around to playing Gris and it greatly inspired me. You will see what I mean in the later chapters :>
> 
> You can ask questions on the old [Tumblr](https://nothoughtsonlybees.tumblr.com), too, if you'd like.


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